Highschool DxD: A Most Sensational Trial
by scrapbookofwasabi
Summary: [DISCONTINUED] When the existence of the supernatural is revealed to mortal man, American defense attorney James Bradley never thought he'd be in the limelight. But with the Occult Research Club as his clients in the trial of the century, he has to deal with Japan's bigoted government, supernatural intrigues, and the ORC's impatience at it all.
1. Catalyst

It had all gone so wrong.

All this Rias Gremory concluded as her peerage engaged nearly two hundred human soldiers in combat.

She supposed that the appearance of human soldiers upon the grounds of Kuoh Academy was something extremely unprecedented. The human governments were renowned throughout Heaven and the Underworld for being extremely easy to fool. For all their complex technologies, secretive intelligence agencies, and obsessive presidents, they were helpless when it came to outsmarting those with greater powers than themselves. For thousands of years Heaven, the Grigori, and the Underworld had kept their affairs from outside eyes, which Rias found remarkable when studying her history. The Great War itself had been fought without any human suspecting a thing, despite the drastic effects it had had on human history.

A hailstorm of bullets grazed the ground near to her, but Rias escaped. Turning her head to the source of the gunfire, she found a soldier carrying a heavy machine gun, its barrel still smoking from its recent outburst.

With a grunt the soldier set to work loading the ammunition feed into the weapon, cursing as the thing jammed. Still he attempted to load the gun even as his death was upon him.

 _Humans_ , she thought, as she called upon her Power of Destruction, _are such FOOLS_!

The Power she had inherited through her mother filled her body, and her hair floated into the air as energy crackled through the air. Her power was almost a living thing, just waiting to be released from the container that was her body. She raised her arm, and channeled her power into proportions that defied human physics, and leveled it towards the soldier.

The soldier only had time to utter a final curse before being utterly blown to pieces. Bits of blood and flesh flew through the air, landing in a five foot radius around the spot where the man had used to be. Rias stepped back a few inches to avoid the disgusting aftermath, and was pleasantly surprised when none of it landed on her.

She turned to survey what her servants had wrought upon the enemy soldiers, and she smiled when she saw what was being done.

Yuuto Kiba led her peerage in their advance, a sword in each hand, generated from his Sacred Gear, Sword Birth. As she watched he raised his left arm and screamed a war cry before leaping into battle with the human soldiers. She watched as her Knight used his superior reflexes and quicker speed to dance through the soldiers, eviscerating them as he went. The swords swept clean and through, and with each swing human bodies fell, cleaved neatly in two to bleed a great deal of blood upon the grass lawn of Kuoh Academy.

Humans apparently had a tendency to die in a much more disgusting way than angels, fallen angels, or devils. She remembered the stray devil, who she had destroyed with her Power of Destruction. The Power had destroyed the devil with little more than a fallout of dust. It had been the same with those fallen angels. Those three had been killed with little more than an explosion of feathers, and the fourth, the one who had played with her Pawn's emotions, would have probably done the same, even though she had escaped.

Really, Rias regretted the chance to kill the fourth fallen angel, the one who referred to herself as Raynare. She had seemed like a somewhat worthy opponent, but she had fallen prey to Issei's Sacred Gear, and escaped when she had been beaten. A coward and a lunatic, but still an opponent who had possessed some power.

Not like these humans, who died with the flick of one's wrist. There was no satisfaction in killing any of these mortals. Not that the act of murder was a glorious thing. It was just that she wanted a worthy opponent to face when she _did_ have to kill.

The human with the machine gun had apparently been the only soldier with enough daring to face her. There had been the soldier who had started it all, of course, but he had ran away after firing a few rounds... Rias had let him run. An opponent that ran was an opponent no longer.

She surveyed the carnage that her servants were wreaking, and smiled. _Humanity_ , she thought, _populous and yet so weak all the same_.

Kiba led her peerage in their advance, but it was perhaps her Queen who was doing the most damage.

Akeno Himejima, her Queen- her first and greatest servant. She constituted the entire left flank of the impromptu force, and was doing a very good job of it Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Akeno was firing lightning out of her palms, electrocuting the humans as she went. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Akeno took sadistic pleasure in battle.

That had always been her greatest qualm with Akeno- her Queen took too much pleasure from fighting. It was always good to build up some bloodlust while fighting, but not to Akeno's level. Rias watched with some disgust as Akeno blasted lightning out in copious amounts, electrocuting even more humans as she went. The afflicted soldiers fell to the ground, twitching, but for some reason she had left them alive.

Rias breathed a small sigh of relief when Akeno _didn't_ pause to torture them.

To Kiba's right was the rest of her peerage, making up her Rook, Pawn, and Bishop, presently fighting their way through the human soldiers. Here the humans held advantage- hand-to-hand combat was more prevalent here, although the presence of a Rook was more than likely to tip the advantage in her favor.

 _Yes,_ she concluded, as a human body was tossed over her peerage's ranks, the neck bent at an odd angle, _the presence of a Rook does set the scale in my favor_.

Koneko Toujou, her Rook, was having a field day, although Rias knew better than to call it that. Rather, it was a field day in terms of body count. Her Rook rolled, slammed, punched, and kicked, and with every attack that made contact with a human- well, it didn't end well for that human. Not very well. A Rook was strong. A Rook was made to withstand attack, which Koneko did very well. She could hold her own against regular yōkai, and even lower-class angels and fallen angels, like that time at the church had shown. But against humans, a Rook was a full-blown powerhouse- a fact that was very advantageous for Rias. Already Koneko had racked up the largest amount of fatalities, more so than even Akeno, which was saying something, seeing that the powers of lighting greatly outclassed mere physical combat.

She watched with smug satisfaction as Koneko utterly _destroyed_ the human ranks. With each punch a human was sent flying, and when their bodies landed limply on the ground, they stayed on the ground. Rias noted that Koneko was painfully slow, which was true- all Rooks were slow- but as humans didn't possess any unique powers, it was all and well for Koneko to defeat the human soldiers.

A fresh chorus of human screams erupted across the grounds of Kuoh Academy. They were not unique- human screams tended to fall into the regular mold of agonizing, pain-soaked, throat-tearing things, but it was a fresh chorus of human screams, which she had not heard in awhile. At least, not at that intensity. The damage inflicted by Akeno and Koneko had not made the humans scream in such a manner.

Nay, it had to mean only one thing, and when Rias identified the source of the screams, she could not help but smile.

A group of human soldiers had had the audacity and foolishness to engage Xenovia Quarta and Irina Shidou, and it looked like they were paying for their foolishness. The two Church exorcists seemed to be having no trouble with cutting through their own brethren. Indeed, they did it with as much gusto as Kiba, who was currently slicing through the last few soldiers at the very front of the grounds of Kuoh Academy. Each swing of their arms signified death for another foolish human, as each of their massive blades cleaved through human flesh and skin, spilling copious amounts of blood as they carved bloody paths through their enemies.

Though Xenovia and Irina were not part of her peerage, they had still taken to the task at hand with the same zeal that her servants possessed. Apparently being ruled by Rome didn't mean that they were bound to the restrictive codes of their churches. It suited them, though. Operating so far from the normal chain of command presumably gave them considerable autonomy- which also guaranteed them power to commit greater atrocities than the rest of the Church's military arms.

Within minutes the soldiers who had fought Xenovia and Irina lay dead or dying, bleeding from their massive wounds. The two exorcists, their swords stained with human blood, looked somewhat horrified as they bounded over to where Rias was standing, as did the rest of her peerage.

"How do you feel?" Rias asked cautiously; the two Church exorcists were bound to have something to say on the matter. While she had no qualms in killing other devils, humans would most likely have a tendency not to kill their own. And yet here they were, slaying the enemy without much afterthought.

"Not very well- thank you, Rias, though, for asking," said Irina, brushing some blood off her combat vest. "Killing people, especially when they're not really that evil to begin with, is a sickening task. Nevertheless…."

"It is required, no more, no less," said Xenovia. The other exorcist, in comparison, looked relatively unruffled. "We had to kill in the service of the Church. May the men we slew be absolved of their sins before God, when they go to meet Him in Heaven- assuming they make it there, of course."

"Such _righteous_ talk-" said Akeno, who smiled, "and yet the Heavens do not turn an eye to their mortal servants. We, on the other hand-"

"Hush, Akeno," said Rias. There was really no need to impose the policies of Hell upon these Church exorcists, not when they were so vehemently opposed to Hell in the first place. That was what an exorcist was supposed to do- hunt and kill devils. The only reason why they were allied in the first place was because of the simple fact that they faced a common enemy- the soldiers. Of what government, Rias couldn't tell, but logic told her that the men who had been slain were agents of the Japanese government. And in this case, the Japanese government was regrettably everyone's enemy.

"Kuoh Academy has been evacuated, President," intoned Kiba, returning with blood-soaked swords hand in hand. His clothes had been stained almost completely in blood, and his hair was in the same condition. His face was half-soaked in the substance as well, and he looked almost like what a human would call a 'devil,' as in the kind of red-skinned horned being that spat fire from its mouth. Or at least, his bloodstained image evoked something of the sort.

"Good, good," Rias said, putting her hands on her hips. "If things go well, this should be the first and only wave of attackers. Asia, it would be a pleasure if you could tend to anyone who has wounds of any sort."

"Yes, Buchou!" the young girl said. Rias watched her Bishop scurry away and tend to the rest of her peerage's wounds, and smiled. The girl was really a pleasure to have around, being so naive and all. It made for a welcome change from the rest of the 'experienced' world, although her Pawn had staked an interest in Asia, which did make for some complicated dealings between the two, something which Rias frowned upon. Issei _did_ save Asia from that fallen angel, after all, but the relationship between the two seemed to have grown a little… close, at times. Rias supposed that she would have to keep a closer eye on the two.

Her Pawn was stumbling towards her at the moment, his Sacred Gear hanging loosely by his side, blood splotching and staining his shirt, hair matted and soaked with what she presumed to be more blood. Issei's eyes were blank, which was a first- she had never seen them so blank, not even when she had found him dying by that fountain. His Sacred Gear, normally bright red, was stained- it was stained with so much blood that even the green gem in the middle was colored red.

"President…." said Issei slowly, "will I have to… kill… people… in this way…. in the future?"

Rias thought long and hard before giving her Pawn the answer. Honestly she wanted to say no, but she knew that there would be times in which her peerage would have fight greater numbers of enemies than this, and slay them all, too, for that matter. But the crucial difference was that there wasn't such a great amount of blood in defeating the individuals that she had in mind. And besides, though her Pawn was now a devil, he still had some connection to the human race, and it was an established fact that killing other humans put trauma on a human's psyche. And that was just killing them with simple gunfire. Fighting them and killing them in this heavy-handed, gore-splattering manner was, well… not good for the human psyche.

So it was with a heavy heart that Rias answered, "Yes, Issei… you will. Although I suspect that the opponents we will face would not be what you would call…. _human_ …."

At this her Pawn's face lit up, and he grinned at Rias, albeit weakly. "Then… I guess it's alright, President. My gosh, I'm so tired-"

There was an almost lightning-quick burst of yellow, and when the dust cleared Asia was there, holding Issei by the arm. "Issei!" the girl said, smiling intensely, "I won't let you fall!"

Her Pawn blushed violently, and wrapped an arm around Asia. "It's okay, Asia," Issei replied, smiling, "I was just exaggerating…."

Rias slapped her hand to her forehead, in a manner evoking the human term of _facepalm_. "If this goes where I think it's going…" she muttered, but the ensuing rumble of chatter that often filled her peerage began to ensue. Her peerage, while a good fighting force, did fall into distractions at times, and this happened to be such a time. Not surprisingly, the pair of exorcists hung back from the conversation, unsure of what to make of this. Rias could empathize- she had read over the Church's training manuals in the past, and every single one of them had stated that devils were evil, amoral creatures who lived for sin. Now they were encountering devils that, for a probable first time ever, had not delegated to kill them. And they were most likely receiving mixed emotions about the whole event, seeing that Irina Shidou claimed to be Issei's childhood friend.

So Rias walked over to the Church exorcists, hoping to extend a metaphorical hand of friendship.

"So," she said, hoping to dispel any small talk, "you must be feeling rather strange. After all, we probably are the first devils that haven't tried to kill you in your experience. Am I right?"

Xenovia, the blue-haired exorcist, scoffed. "That is true, devil, but that does not mean that you can turn on us at the slightest opportunity. "Especially when you turned Irina's childhood friend into one of…. one of _you_."

Irina laughed softly. "Oh, Xenovia, it's really nothing. Really." Yet despite that casual quip, Rias could hear hurt in the pigtailed exorcist's voice. She supposed it was natural, after all, to learn one's friend had been converted into the race that was the hated enemy of one's organization.

"But I still don't like this," Irina added, which was a sharp contrast from the somewhat happy tone that the exorcist had just used. She spoke the words sullenly, which made the contrast all the more glaring.

"Is this what devils do, Rias?" said Xenovia suddenly. "Butcher humans, and then socialize as if nothing was going on?"

"Socialize? I wouldn't call it that, but yes. Although this is rather unprecedented. In all of recorded history, few humans aside from the Church have managed to grasp the fact that we exist."

"And yet two hundred human soldiers attacked Kuoh Academy," Xenovia mused. Suddenly she hefted the massive, blood-splattered blue blade- Durandal was its name, supposedly- and looked around.

"You don't suppose, devil, that there could be more of them?"

It seemed as if at the same time, she could hear a far-off roar in the distance; the rage of humans who had seen their comrades slaughtered before them. It seemed as if there would be more humans coming, with even greater weapons than the laughably weak 'guns' that these soldiers had brought with them. It seemed as if they would come with a massive burst, an avalanche of gunfire and whatever weaponry that the human race could bring with them, and unleash it upon them. It seemed as if… as if they were doomed, somehow.

But when she stopped to think about it, the roar seemed to dissipate; it scattered into the wind without afterthought. Initially Rias thought that the sound was receding, and she felt glad, but then she realized that the sound had never been there in the first place- it was probably just a result of her paranoia. Which was good and all- her peerage had just fought through two hundred human soldiers. That in itself was a feat for a peerage, but to think about their hard-earned victory and become paranoid about it was just a manifestation of her worry, doubt, and fear.

Nevertheless, the mental imagery of more humans with more of their weapons coming at her peerage made Rias shudder. Alone humanity was helpless, but the annoying thing about humans was the fact that they tended to band together in face in greater enemies- whether it was a rabid animal or other humans. Two hundred humans charging her peerage had almost overwhelmed them; them and the Church exorcists, too. The fact that more could come- and would come- was a disturbing one.

"If they do," Rias replied slowly, "then we will be ready."

"Ready?" This time the outburst came from Irina. "I do not wish to bemoan the current state of affairs, but _everyone_ \- I repeat, _everyone_ , is tired. My arms feel like falling off, for one, and I am certain that everyone feels the same way, even if Asia over there has the ability to heal the most grievous of wounds. We _cannot_ , I repeat, we _cannot_ repel another attack."

She turned to the now-empty school and waved a hand in its direction, before turning back to Rias again, anger etched upon the girl's face.

"What use is Kuoh Academy now? It is completely evacuated. And what did we fight for here? Nothing! We fought for a massive pile of bricks, glass, and mortar! I once thought that devils were cruel, and yet _intelligent_! This disproves the latter! And why did two hundred humans have to die, for nothing! So that you could maintain your school for devils?! Bah! I say it is devilish pride! Complete and utter foolishness! We may have not broken the rules of the Church today, but we have now the blood of dozens upon our souls! And when we go to absolve ourselves of sin, do you think we will forget the screams of the dying, and the twitching of the dead? No! And we will remember that it was you who stained our blades and souls with their blood!"

Rias was at a loss of words. What Irina said was true, but what the Church exorcist didn't understand was the _significanc_ e of Kuoh Academy. Without it, the Underworld would lose its most significant source of new devils for peerages who desperately needed them. Not only that, but it was also for those who wanted to live in the mortal world- yes, there were many who had that interest- and wanted to obtain mortal educations and entrances into higher institutions of mortal education. The evacuation of Kuoh Academy was already a big strain on the school's board- and herself, as well, as she, and she alone, had delegated to defend the school. Now it was apparent that the defenders, who had fought for the school, were starting to feel that strain.

"These killings were not necessary!" Irina shouted, attracting the attention of Rias' peerage. "Had we done things a bit differently, two hundred men would not be lying dead upon the grass!"

Xenovia walked up to her friend and put a hand on her shoulder. "Irina… this…was cruel, yes, but it was _necessary_."

" _Necessary_!?" Irina said, half-sobbing as she did so. "You are the one who always preaches about necessity, but has it ever occurred to you that necessity sometimes goes over the top?!"

Xenovia's face hardened into a scowl. "Necessity never goes over the top. You of all people should know this- as well as I do, in fact. The deaths were regrettable, but each and every soldier that was slain knew what they were getting into. They cannot interfere with the Church's mission, and by extent, the survival of this Academy."

"Was it worth it?" Irina replied as she brushed off Xenovia's hand, tears welling up in her eyes, "Was it?"

"That," said Akeno, coming up from behind, "is something you must answer yourself. I only know that I took great pleasure in taking down my opponents. Remember, too, that I left my targets… _alive_ , as the President wished."

"Alive and brain-dead, no doubt," Irina muttered.

"Is that so?" Akeno muttered, putting a finger to her mouth in a playful manner. She giggled, and tossed back a strand of her hair that had made its way over her face. " _Is that so_?"

Akeno walked over to where the majority of the corpses lay. She began to pace through the sea of blood, guts, and severed limbs, before finally settling on a limp form which was remarkably intact among the grotesque miasma.

Akeno kicked the body with her shoe, and the audible crack of a nose breaking resounded across the quiet space.

Over where everyone else was standing, Rias saw Asia wince, and she sympathized with the girl. Akeno took pleasure in such things, which was an interest that not very many shared. The dealing of pain was something not to be regarded very lightly, yet Akeno took it all in stride and dealt out pain anyway. And she enjoyed it.

There were many things that Rias disagreed with her Queen with, and this was perhaps the chief issue.

"Shit…." the soldier moaned, and rolled over slightly. "Damn it, girl… you already screwed us all over. Why are you doing this? Leave me to die already!

" _Oh my_ ," giggled Akeno, raising her head to regard Irina, "he's alive!" Then, she turned back to the soldier, a smile stretching across her face. It was the smile of a lunatic, a lunatic who had encountered the very thing that fed his insanity. It was a smile that Akeno possessed, and it was a smile that Akeno used often. It was a smile that Rias hated, and yet had to accept- without it and the many other things that made Akeno what she was, her peerage would not be half as effective as a fighting force.

After all, a Queen was the strongest piece on the chessboard.

"Oh, I will most _certainly_ grant your wish." Akeno said, interrupting Rias' train of thought.

And she stomped- stomped hard- on the man's upturned face, and this time the sound that resounded was not the sound of chicken bones snapping.

It was the sound of strong, supple bone cracking- a rich, yet horrifying sound, rather like rocks breaking. It resounded across the clearing, which was more quiet this time. Quiet to the point of horror. She saw Asia, Issei, and Irina looking on with disbelief, while Xenovia, Kiba, and Koneko appeared generally indifferent. Rias stilled her mouth, despite urges to do otherwise. _It's Akeno's personal pleasure_ , she told herself, and besides, _that man would've tried to kill us anyway, had he been given the chance._

But that didn't make it any better, and to make it even more macabre, the man didn't even respond to his torture. He simply lay there, as if he was letting Akeno crush his face with her shoe. Perhaps he had been one of those affected by her lightning bursts. Maybe his pain receptors had been destroyed, so that he could not feel pain in his final moments.

Or maybe… _maybe_ he just didn't care.

After half a minute a sickening squishing noise could be heard for a bit, before fading into blissful silence. Akeno withdrew her foot from the man's face, and what she left behind…

No. She had left nothing that could be called human behind.

The man's face was dented, somehow- it was pushed far past the normal limit of a human face. The front of his face was pushed back into his head, and although there was no blood, Rias could tell the man was dead. No one, especially a mortal, could survive such a beating.

Akeno walked calmly back over to where everyone else was gathered, and smiled. "Well, that man is dead now. There are quite a few others out there like him, still alive and mostly numb to pain. It would have been so much more satisfying if he had felt what I had been giving to him."

"Akeno…" Rias said with a warning tone. "If we are ever caught for this, the mortals will not like it that you crushed one of their own's faces. We will be-"

"Oh, Rias," her Queen responded, sighing, "you are always the one that worries about such… such trivial manners. I am certain that the humans will never catch us, and even if they do, we will not be going down without a fight. They will never bring us into their foolish systems, that much I can assure you."

"What you say means nothing," said Rias. She crossed her arms underneath her breasts, and looked at Akeno with what she hoped was a stern expression. In moments like these, Rias really regretted not being harsh with her Queen. Yes, Akeno was her closest companion, but Akeno was not a _friend_ in that sense; she was simply a servant who had found her way into her master's good graces. Her very good graces indeed.

She could only hope that what Akeno said would come to pass.

* * *

A couple miles away from Kuoh Academy, in a hastily erected tent filled with video feeds and quite a few laptops, a man slammed his fist down on the table.

He was the commander of the Japanese Self-Defense Force in the proximity of the area, and he screamed at his own incompetence.

Initially the operation had gone well. He had finally gotten the paperwork necessary to authorize an attack on the school, which had been suspected as a hideout for devils for weeks now, ever since the knowledge of the existence of devils, fallen angels, and angels had been discovered. It was something that the man wanted to do. He wanted to watch the devils be destroyed, watch their blood run on the ground as the JSDF destroyed them and prevented yet another foul nest of the sinful creatures from spreading their heresy.

Two hundred men had sallied forth from troop carriers to attack the school. He had watched from the video feed as they shouted an order into the school. There was nothing. No response at all. They had shouted another warning, that everyone was hereby under arrest by order of the Japanese government. No response at all. So they had laid explosive charges and blown down the school's ornate doors, and ventured into the place.

The soldiers had explored the depth of the school, but they found no signs of life. They had combed the entire academy, finding classrooms that were simply empty. In one of them, a cigarette had been left on a teacher's desk, still smoldering. Textbooks were still scattered on student's desks, some still open to certain pages. Windows were opened, and the pages flapped in the soft breeze. It was as if the entire student body, the faculty and everyone else related to the operations of the academy had just went and disappeared into thin air.

With that uncanny discovery in mind, the various combat teams had retreated from the school, muttering about the unholy ways in which the devils had evacuated their kin. Many muttered prayers to their various gods, which, more often than not, were the various Shinto spirits. He himself was a Christian, descendant of those who had been converted to the way of the Lord many hundred years ago, but he respected their prayers. They were all gods under one sun, after all.

It had seemed like a failed mission, and he had clasped his hands to his chest, ready to face the consequences for authorizing such a wasted effort. This had seemed like a successful endeavor, and had it succeeded, it would be the first publicized destruction of a devil nest in this country. Yet… there was nothing.

Or so he thought.

As the men retreated from the school, ever vigilant to erase as much of their tracks as possible, one of the men had decided to go exploring. He had seen the man go, and he had silently screamed at him not to. He had even ordered the presiding commander to get the man to stop. Yet the field commander had stayed radio silent, despite the numerous times that he had paged the man to get the errant from exploring.

And then the worst had happened.

The errant soldier had uncovered a bush, looked around, fired a few shots, and then ran for his apparent life.

Eight figures emerged from the bush. He had viewed the video feed, and he had felt the rush of anticipation. The JSDF had never fought against the devil race before, so who knew their powers? He had known, though, that they were devils from the moment they had emerged from the bush. No human was as beautiful or as arrogant-looking as the one in the lead, the one with blood-red hair and a massive bust. He had watched in horror as the men began to surge towards the devils, and he had tore at his hair in suspense as the leader of the devils pointed a slim finger at the oncoming mass of men. He could almost feel the power that they radiated as they begin to tear through their ranks, throwing men left and right, slashing through them with impunity, and he had screamed at his own incompetence as he watched his own son try to load a machine gun in the face of the red-haired devil, and he had watched with a sense of finality as his son was blown into nothing by none other than that red-haired devil.

Now, when all those men lay dead and dying, he saw the black-haired devil, the one with two massive pigtails and an orange bow tie, go over into the grotesque mix of corpses and blood and find a soldier who had survived all that carnage. He had watched as she proceeded to break the man's nose and subsequently crush his face with her shoe.

That sight had made him want to pick up his pistol and go into battle himself, and fill that whore with as many rounds as he could before she killed him with her powers. Only his roles as a commander stopped him from that.

He had lost his son to the devils, and those men as well. He knew them. They were good men, and they didn't deserve to be killed with impunity by these devils. The mere existence of the creatures was simply unfair to the greater existence of humanity.

The flaps to the tent rustled, and a lieutenant stepped in with a clipboard underneath his arm.

"Commander Watanabe, sir, the heavy weaponry you've requested has arrived. Six tanks loaded with 'the heaviest rounds you could find'- well, sir, the heaviest rounds that we could find are 50mm high explosive rounds, sir. We've loaded them all into the tanks, ten shells apiece." said the lieutenant, reading from the clipboard. "We had some trouble getting authorization for that, but we got through in the end."

"What do you mean?" he growled. The higher-ups had actually doubted his request? He was a respected JSDF commander, having served for nearly thirty years, and they still doubted him? In this much-needed removal of devils? He should have been given complete autonomy for this assignment!

"Sir, this school is surrounded by several apartment complexes. The higher-ups had concerns that if the tank crews hit the buildings, anyone in them is going to be utterly and completely destroyed. But we got through in the end." the lieutenant finished, flipping more pages through the clipboard as he went.

"The civilians can go to hell," the commander growled, slamming his fist on the table again. "We must take down the damned devils!"

"Sir," the lieutenant said with a warning tone in his voice, "think of the civil-"

"This is a military situation," the commander said, cutting off the lieutenant with a wave of his hand, "and those devils shall be defeated. We will kill them at all costs-"

"Sir," the lieutenant said, the warning tone once more in his voice. It was more pronounced this time, as if the lieutenant had something he wanted to say, and urgently, too.

"Spit it out!" the commander said, impatient. He slammed his fist on the table, and turned to regard the lieutenant. "If you have bad news, then speak it!"

"Sir… Tokyo…." the lieutenant stuttered, obviously unable to go on further. He clutched the clipboard to his chest and looked at Watanabe with a grimace, before falling silent.

"What?!" the commander exclaimed. He threw his chair aside and wrenched the lieutenant's collar, pulling the younger man close to him. "WHAT WERE THE ORDERS FROM TOKYO?!"

"Sir… Tokyo… Tokyo has ordered that the devils be captured… alive," the lieutenant said, saying the last word with a tortured finish.

"So… Tokyo thinks that it can control me?" the commander said. He released the lieutenant from his chokehold, and seized the clipboard from the lieutenant. After some determined searching, he found what he had been fearing- a memo from Tokyo, saying in very clear characters:

 _Capture the intended targets, if there are any at all, alive at all costs._

It was a simple memo, one of the simplest he had ever received from his superiors, and yet the length of the message made it all the more scathing. It felt as if the Ministry of Defense was simply disregarding his service with that short message. He had served thirty years in uniform. He had known what it was like to fight, kill, and die. He had risen through the ranks from a simple infantryman to the honorable rank of Major General. How those civilian fools in Tokyo thought they could run the military! A force of battle-tested men, all ready to die for the State, who had proven themselves time and time again, and yet commanded by such fools!

He grasped the memo and tore it in two, to his lieutenant's shock.

"Commander Watanabe… that was a memo from the Minister of Defense!" the lieutenant exclaimed, a look of absolute horror on his face. "That was a personal memo from the Minister of Defense!"

Watanabe laughed. The lieutenant had the look of someone new to the military; he was probably one of those who had graduated straight from college to the rank of second lieutenant, and prone to following orders. Following orders was good- you learned discipline, but sometimes orders were meant to be disobeyed. Like this one, for instance. And never mind the fact that the accursed memo came from the Minister itself.

"To hell with the Minister," said Watanabe, sitting down back down on his chair. "The Minister knows nothing about war. He does not know what it is like to fight, to lose those who you were closest to. He is a politician. The worst kind. He will not control what I do on the battlefield."

The lieutenant was silent. The tent was silent, with occasional chatter from outside as soldiers presumably moved equipment around. There was no movement in the tent, except from the video feeds of the damned devils.

"Commander Watanabe…" the lieutenant said at last. He pronounced each word hesitatingly, like all the words he had just uttered.

"What?" Watanabe snapped back at the lieutenant. "My orders are final, and that's that! I can get court-martialed later for all I care!"

"Sir," said the lieutenant slowly, "I'm… I'm… afraid… I'm going to have to… relieve… you… of… your… command."

"What?" Watanabe said again, and he rose from his chair to regard the lieutenant. "Are you seriously considering insubordination? I thought you civilian types were above such madness!"

"Sir," the lieutenant said, again, with more urgency, "it's not insubordination if you're refusing something illegal."

Even as the lieutenant said that, Watanabe saw his hand reach for something. It was probably his pistol, and Watanabe reached for his own. But as the commander drew his pistol, he saw the younger man's arm go back in a wide sweep. Watanabe lunged towards the lieutenant, arms stretched out wide, hoping to physically restrain him, as firing a shot in this close-quarters range would be practically insane.

Just before everything went dark, he could clearly see the lieutenant's arm swing towards his face, and in the lieutenant's outstretched hand was the butt of the lieutenant's Minebea 9mm pistol.

Commander Watanabe fell unconscious to the ground, his body lying in a sprawled heap on the soft grass below him. Disgusted by what he had done, the lieutenant tossed the pistol on the commander's body, and exited the tent swiftly, clipboard in hand.

A sergeant ran up to the lieutenant. He was a heavyset man, perhaps forty, and he looked rather worried as he made his way up to the lieutenant. "Lieutenant Itami, sir. Where is the commander? He was supposed to be out five minutes ago. We can't start this operation without him, you know," the sergeant said in one breath.

The lieutenant looked at the sergeant with the sternest expression he could muster, and sighed. "Commander Watanabe is… indisposed at the moment. He is not fit to command."

"The commander… is indisposed?"

"Yes, Sergeant. Like I said, he can't serve."

The sergeant scratched his head and looked at the lieutenant. "In that case, then, sir, are we still going to proceed with the attack? All the troops are ready for the assault, sir, and we were wondering where Commander Watanabe was, that's all."

The lieutenant sighed, and looked at his clipboard, which bore the shredded remains of the memo.

"Sergeant, as I am now acting commander for this detachment of the Japanese Self Defense Forces, I… I officially authorize you to commence this attack. And also, according to this memo…"

He fished out the destroyed remains of the memo, connected to each other only by the smallest strands of paper. The lieutenant expected the strands of paper to collapse as soon as he withdrew the mutilated thing, but it didn't. It held rather well, actually, as the lieutenant gave the paper to the sergeant.

"What is this?" the sergeant said, holding the remains of the shredded paper. It looked dangerously close to blowing away, but it held.

" Capture the intended targets, if there are any at all, alive at all costs?" said the sergeant with a choked voice. "And the Minister of Defense actually wrote this?"

"Yes," the lieutenant said, exasperated. As an afterthought he added, "it's why the commander is indisposed to command in the first place."

The sergeant looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "He… tore…. the memo… from the Minister… of Defense?"

"Exactly what it says on the tin can," the lieutenant said, and turned to the sergeant with an abrupt about-face. "Sergeant, your orders are clear. We must apprehend these monsters- they are a threat to the Japanese nation. Commander Watanabe understood that. However, Commander Watanabe had one flaw- he refused to capture them alive. The Minister of Defense signed that memo, and it is that memo we must follow."

The sergeant's only response was to sigh. "If it is what it is, then, Lieutenant, then I have no choice but to obey. And sir, what _did_ happen to the commander?"

The lieutenant sighed. He felt like he was doing a lot of sighing these days, and he turned to the sergeant. "Sergeant, that is something that is not important right now. Right now we need to apprehend those demons and capture them alive so that the State can do whatever it wants with them. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" the sergeant thundered, stamping his foot and shooting a brisk salute. He then jogged off in the presumed direction of where the requested equipment was.

The lieutenant watched him go, and set down the clipboard with a shudder. He had only just graduated two years ago from the National Defense Academy, and this had been his first actual field assignment. He had told himself it would be just a normal day, if conducting the first military operation against demons was normal. And now he had found himself taking out a commander- a respected one, at that- and taking on the reins of command by himself.

Two soldiers ran up to him. They saluted him briefly before turning in the direction of the command tent. "Sir," said the first soldier, a somewhat skinny-looking man with the badge of a private first class, "we heard that the commander was indisposed. Our assumption was that he had to be in the command tent, where you… ah… relieved the commander of command."

"Correct," said the lieutenant, and immediately he felt relieved- he would have to had to give an order like that in the very near future in order to go into the command tent without being attacked by the commander. He was only relieved that he had not had to give the command himself.

The two men went into the tent, and they dragged out the commander, who seemed half-conscious as he was being removed. Commander Watanabe attempted to struggle with his captors, but the private slammed the butt of his gun into the commander's head, and the commander fell unconscious once more.

The lieutenant sighed. He respected Commander Watanabe, but the man had simply gone too far with his disobedience towards the central government. Now the man would have to be discharged- dishonorably, too. He had served in the self-defense forces for nearly thirty years, or as he so boisterously proclaimed- the lieutenant believed him, however,- and now he would have to lose all that and more.

All because of a simple mistake.

But the military did not allow mistakes.

The lieutenant entered the tent quickly and sat down at the command table. A swift glance at the video feeds showed the devils regrouping in the middle of the corpse-strewn battlefield. Another glance at their grouping showed that they were in no particular defensive formation. Simply put, they were not expecting another attack.

The lieutenant smiled, which was rare for him. He did not take satisfaction in giving out orders- indeed, he had not given out many in his entire time in the military, but for some reason he felt satisfaction that he would be helping the State apprehend its enemies. He had always thought that carrying out orders was a big load of responsibility; he thought it would constantly weigh on his mind as he gave out the order, but surprisingly there was nothing.

Only an elation of sorts.

Perhaps this was why Commander Watanabe had went to the task of destroying the demons with such gusto.

 _Perhaps_ … _perhaps_ … the lieutenant told himself.

He grasped the headset and patched himself into the command structure. It took him about three minutes before he was able to transmit to the assembled military forces ready to attack. The airwaves there were a confused jumble of muttering, with the prevalent topic being the recent dismissal of Commander Watanabe.

He cleared his throat, and spoke. "Men, this is Itami Takashi. In the absence of Commander Watanabe, I am now commanding officer over this detachment of the Self-Defence Forces. I will now authorize an attack on Kuoh Academy, as per the government's wishes. The government also wishes that the demons be captured alive at all costs."

He heard some dissent. "Must we use the Suppressant?" said one of the soldiers over the airwaves. "Can't we just kill them all?"

"No, soldier," said the lieutenant, in what he hoped was an affirmative voice, "the government has specifically ordered that the demons be captured alive, so the use of the Suppressant will be most appropriate, if it comes to that."

The soldier grumbled. "If that is what the government wishes, then, Lieutenant, so be it."

"Any more objectors?" said the lieutenant. It was against military protocol to ask such a question- orders were to obeyed with any objections. Yet in a case like this, when they were about to do battle with the greatest enemy that the Self-Defense Force had ever faced? It felt only right to ask such a thing, to weed out any who might have any second thoughts toward the operation.

He was pleasantly surprised when there was no dissent across the airwaves.

"Then let's do this," the lieutenant said, drumming his fingers on the table. "This operation is a go!"

Across the airwaves he heard the chatter of men as they went to war; he heard the rumble of the six tanks that had been requisitioned for the operation, and he heard the numerous clicks of ammunition being loaded.

He didn't care about what powers the demons possessed. They were going toe-to-toe with the might of the Self-Defense Force, and they were going to get it.

The lieutenant smiled again.

* * *

There were six of them.

Great, shining and gleaming, the tanks rolled across the lawn of Kuoh Academy, trampling grass underneath their great treads. With each movement the tanks left torn shods of dirt, upturning the previously perfect grass. The things finally stopped at the middle of the lawn, barrels out and about, and they seemed to turn and regard the group of devils clustered in the back of the lawn of Kuoh Academy.

Rias Gremory saw the tanks, and she despaired.

"Well, Akeno," she said, looking at her Queen with barely disguised anger in her voice, "what you said did not come to pass at all."

Akeno laughed. "It is just a human contraption, no more. Six of them there may be, but we can easily destroy them."

Rias growled. "I hope you're right," she said.

She flashed a hand out by her side and let it fill up with the Power of Destruction. The black fire filled her palm, and she was about to lob it at the tanks and destroy them with impunity when she saw something that chilled her devil blood.

Behind the tanks, she saw a great commotion of activity. Initially they were too far away to be registered, but as they got closer, Rias gasped in fear. She could not believe that the government of Japan had really spared this many men and resources to attempt such a massive and costly assault!

Behind the tanks, about five dozen humans were arriving to reinforce their kindred in the tanks. Each carried a strange-looking gun with a wider barrel and a larger stock. On closer inspection, Rias realized that they were grenade launchers.

"Oh, no…" Rias said, putting a hand to her mouth, as she realized the implications of what this meant.

It had all transformed into a great trap. When the initial wave of soldiers had assailed the Academy, it had seemed random and unplanned, and it had probably been. The soldiers had not been poised and ready for an attack, and indeed- it had seemed that they were retreating from the Academy. Rias would have liked for them to keep retreating, but then that man had spotted her, and in mere moments the entire squadron was firing at her peerage and the exorcists. And she could not let such an attack slide without reprisal, leading to the recent bloodbath.

But this- this was not an unplanned assault like the one that had just occurred. This was a planned assault, from the looks of the troops that were currently gathering. The grenadiers were posted at a safe distance behind the tanks, yet Rias suspected that the grenadiers could still assault them with ease from the position that their leader had placed them in. The grenades would probably be able to soar over the tanks and assault her peerage and the exorcists with a more-than-good amount of aim.

Rias snarled to herself, and waved at her peerage, still clustered a somewhat safe distance away from the oncoming invaders.

Xenovia was the first to register what was going on, and sprinted over in wide, sloping steps. When she saw the oncoming forces she stopped, and Rias could clearly see the exorcist clutch Durandal with as much force as she could muster, before letting it go.

"So, devil," said Xenovia, a hard look coming over her face, "the government of Japan has come to assault us again."

"And we will most likely die for this," Irina said, a grim look on her face. She gripped her own sword and twirled it in the face of the opposing soldiers.

Xenovia laughed. "Do or die, that is what you always say, Irina. But have you not considered the weapons at our own disposal?"

Tying Durandal to her back, the exorcist withdrew another sword- a sword which Rias recognized almost instantly.

"Behold, Excalibur Destruction," said Xenovia, waving the sword into the air. Its blade was thick, with what seemed like axe-blades replacing its guard. The blade itself was adorned with a red line running down its length, as well as what seemed to be two additional blades stuck onto the sides of the sword. Xenovia waved it twice before leveling it in Rias' direction.

Rias recoiled from the blade as soon as she saw the sword begin to fall in her direction, and not just because it was a _sword pointed her way_. Rias had seen the destructive potential of the blade beforehand, when it had been used against Kiba during their initial meeting. The blade had been capable of generating a massive explosion that had almost killed her Knight, and as Rias saw the blade being unfurled, she instantly understood its destructive potential.

"You plan to use that against the humans, don't you?" said Rias, and she cupped her chin in thought. In the corner of her eye the tanks still seemed to be regarding them with curiosity. Behind them the soldiers bearing grenade launchers seemed to be setting up for a battle formation. She saw the men gathering in rows, and loading extra ammunition in their barrels, ready to fire their deadly rounds at her peerage.

Now seemed the perfect time to strike, when they were still attempting to set up an effective battle plan.

With a single motion of her head Rias called her peerage to her. With a swipe of her hand she sent Koneko, and Issei against the western flank of grenade-bearing soldiers, and with a swipe of her right, Akeno and Kiba were dispatched to deal with the eastern flank. Each bounded towards the grenade-bearing soldiers with their own weapons bared in mind, ready to eviscerate the enemy gathered there. Asia hung back, chewing at her fingernails in fear, and Rias did not blame her. Anyone possessing Asia's delicate disposition would be scared of such attempts of battle, after all.

The tanks turned their great turrets, as if they were going to fire on her peerage.

But Rias would never let that happen.

"Hey, you!" Rias yelled in her best intimidating voice, at the tanks. The things turned and regarded her with their turrets. Their great barrels swiveled into place, and something snapped in Rias. That something told her that the tanks were done with their curious swiveling and regarding. Now, they were ready to fire.

"Are you with me?" she called over her shoulder to the two exorcists, who gripped their swords with anticipation.

"If I must ally with a devil to ensure my survival, then yes," Xenovia muttered. "But that does not mean that we are your friends, _Rias-san_."

Irina sighed, and clutched her own sword closer to her breast. "So be it," said the pigtailed exorcist.

Rias threw her head back and laughed. She laughed because she was about to do battle with more humans who believed that they could defeat her with impunity, and she was about to do battle with two Church exorcists. Exorcists were the kind of individuals that she, being a devil, preferred to stay away from, but in situations like these? Sometimes the enemy of your enemy was your friend.

Rias laughed again, and she charged into battle against the tanks, with the two Church exorcists following closely behind, each screaming their own war cry as they, too, charged into battle against the tanks.

* * *

Inside the tanks, the commander in the lead tank smiled.

"Men, that red-headed demon may have immense powers at her disposal, but let's give Hell a taste of its own power today!"

He slapped a hand on a one-hundred-twenty-five millimeter HEAT round that had yet to be loaded in the barrel. Oh, the demons were sure to get a taste of their own hellfire, right in their faces!

Disregarding his gunner's cries, he grasped the HEAT round, being sure to handle it carefully, and loaded it into the gun's feed. He then seized the controls from his gunner and aimed the sight at the oncoming demon, who was brandishing what a handful of what seemed to be black fire and a very determined face.

Against anyone else, that would have been a fearsome sight. But this was a tank the demon was fighting. A tank, equipped with the greatest rounds that a tank could fire.

Let the demon attempt to survive a round to the face.

He smiled, and fired.

* * *

In the few seconds before the tank's barrel gave birth to a monstrosity of death and fire, Rias Gremory saw the tank give what looked like a death rattle. The tank convulsed, and she could hear the tank's central support system bend and stretch before finally snapping back into its original shape. She saw the turret jerk back, and she saw it give a great shudder before finally calming.

Rias saw the tank's spasms, and she knew right away, then and there, that she would die on that moment. Even an angel could not survive a tank shell to the face, that much Rias was certain.

But at the last moment she saw Irina jump from where she had been standing; saw Irina wrap Rias in a great embrace, and saw Irina launch herself and Rias as far as she could from the shell's impact.

It felt like a thousand years, but it was probably just a few seconds. When Rias woke, the first thing she saw was Irina, hovering across her. The exorcist's face was filled with worry as she checked Rias over for any injuries.

"Rias!" Irina exclaimed when she saw Rias return to consciousness.

"Irina…" Rias moaned, and felt something give way in her lower left body. It was probably a bone that had broken.

"Rias," said Irina slowly, "you're injured-"

"Injured? What do you-" said Rias, before the pain struck.

The pain was fire- it arced through her legs, tearing into her upper body. It forced a cry of pain from her mouth, and it made her spasm in even more pain. What was worse was that it did not recede. It throbbed through her body, making its merry way as it stimulated every pain receptor in her body. And the pain only seemed to increase with every second. When it had started it had felt like fire. Now it felt like her entire body was burning, with metaphorical fire oozing from every pore and orifice on her body.

"Irina…" Rias moaned again, swinging her left arm at the exorcist, "how… badly… how… am… I-"

"Your legs are shattered," Irina said gravely, clutching her sword close to her, "and to make it worse, some shrapnel entered your legs. Not to mention to the various cuts and scratches-"

"That's… nothing…" Rias said. "My… peerage…"

Irina waved a hand towards the direction of the tanks. "They're fighting the grenadiers. Xenovia is-"

Six thunderous roars filled the air, and they completely destroyed Rias' eardrums; she heard only ringing, and a massive shower of dirt sprayed her. She saw Irina thrown like a ragdoll over her, and in the not-so-far distance she saw Xenovia spiral across the air, her combat vest torn in a half a dozen places. She saw the blue-haired exorcist fall to the ground, where she rolled to a stop, bleeding from the mouth.

"No…" Rias wanted to say, "no…"

She managed to turn her head towards her peerage's direction, and what she saw sickened her.

Two soldiers were grappling with Asia, as the poor girl opened her mouth and screamed a scream that Rias could not hear. She saw the soldier slam the butt of his gun into Asia's ribcage, and she watched her Bishop fall to the ground and be slung over the man's shoulder.

The rest of her peerage did not face any better. Akeno sent five men to their doom; ten men. But it wasn't enough. For every one that fell, ten took their place. Bullets tore bloody paths through Akeno's legs and hips; sending ribbons of muscle and flesh into the sky. She watched as her Queen fell to the ground, bleeding from a dozen places. Yet Akeno was still visibly alive, and she began to crawl away, desperately. Even the bloodlust that usually sustained Akeno had presumably faded in her darkest hour, and when she needed it the most, it was not there to support her. Rias watched in steadfast horror as a soldier brought the butt of his gun on Akeno's face.

Akeno fell limp.

She watched as Kiba scythed through the soldiers, cutting down twenty within a matter of seconds. Yet he too could not match the bullets of the soldiers. She watched Kiba's legs be riddled with holes, watch him fall to the ground. She watched him cut away at the legs of the soldiers who attempted to restrain him. Soon a pile of bodies surrounded Kiba, tall and wide enough to obscure her sight of him. Yet she knew, somehow, that he was at his dying limit. She saw more soldiers climb the mountains of their dead brethren and jump into the space. She saw dying men attempt to crawl out, and be cut down by Kiba as he lay there, unseen yet deadly. Yet eventually the flow of men pouring into the space soon transformed into an uninterrupted, steady flow, and she knew that Kiba had fallen. Whether he was dead or not, she did not know, but he had fallen.

Koneko seemed to carry the combined fury of both Akeno and Kiba. With each swing of her fist, three humans were sent sprawling, and they did not move when after being stricken. Dead, for sure. Behind Koneko, Issei swung his activated Sacred Gear, smashing through the soldiers with the same effect. Her Pawn's face bore a look of a rage, as he tore through the human ranks. Koneko's face was a look of grim determination as she punched and smashed her way through her assailants. Soon her entire body was swathed in a fresh coat in blood, as she smashed her way through. She rent guns asunder, cracked heads open, and twisted arms around as she desperately fought her way through the men. Yet it was obvious that there was no way out- you could only take so many of them with you as you went.

She saw the humans raise their guns; she saw Issei's face turn in fear and realization as he realized what was going on. She watched, and wanted to cry out as his chest was riddled with holes. She watched as Issei fell to the ground on his knees, bleeding his precious lifeblood on the grass. She watched as a soldier swung the butt of his gun against Issei's neck and watched Issei's neck crack back awkwardly. She watched with a sense of finality as her Pawn collapsed to the ground.

A few feet away, Koneko fell to the ground, bleeding from her back and side, as a butt of a gun was brought down on her head. And again and again. Koneko fell limp with the third and final strike.

"No…" Rias moaned, but she could not even hear herself.

She looked around her. Irina and Xenovia lay where they had fallen, limp and unmoving. The tanks lay in a crater fifteen feet deep in the ground, and sure enough, there was an intricate sword embedded in the middle of that.

 _So you used Excalibur Destruction after all_ , Rias thought, thinking of the holy sword. It would not help, now, however. The tanks were gone, but what use was the destruction of the tanks when the humans were all over the place?

Behind her, three soldiers surrounded Xenovia. The exorcist struck- brandishing her 'standard' sword, she cut through the first man, decapitated the second, and cleaved the arm off the third.

For a second a seed of hope rooted itself in Rias; that the tough constitution of the Church exorcists might be enough to get her and her peerage out of this deathly battleground.

With some effort Rias managed to form the black fire that was her Power of Destruction, but it was a mere shadow of its former self. The Power that she had managed to summon was a mere candle-flame compared to the fistful of black death that she had managed to summon earlier.

Rias swung her arm, and the movement caused her legs to flare up in pain again; nerve-burning, mind-numbing pain. Her arm flopped uselessly to the ground as she struggled to rein in the pain, and her Power faded into nothingness.

Rias cursed herself for being weak, and she was treated to the sight of Xenovia's defeat.

Xenovia lay on the ground, her legs and side filled with bullet holes. The Church exorcist opened her mouth and screamed a silent scream that Rias could not hear- she cursed the infernal ringing- as three more soldiers advanced on her. Desperately, Xenovia swung her blade, chopping off the foot of one of the men- Rias saw the unfortunate soldier collapse to the ground, clutching at the stump of his foot as it spewed his blood onto the grass.

The lead soldier fired into Xenovia's shoulder, forcing her to drop her weapon. The man then swung the butt of his gun into her ribs, forcing Xenovia onto the ground. He then placed a solid foot on the Church exorcist's chest, forcing her breasts apart underneath his foot. The man twisted his foot around, as if he was enjoying the sensation of the exorcist's breasts giving way underneath his foot, before he swiftly swung the stock of his gun upward towards Xenovia's head.

The gun's stock slammed into Xenovia's chin, and her head lolled to one side, limp.

With pain spurting through every cell in her body, Rias turned to look at Irina. The pigtailed exorcist struggled to stand up, as she used her sword for support. Yet she, too, was doomed. The soldier who had defeated Xenovia fired two soundless rounds into Irina's side. Uttering a grunt that Rias could not hear, Irina collapsed to the ground, clutching at her injury.

Walking over to Irina, the soldier brought the stock of his gun down on Irina's face, and after three seconds, Irina joined her friend in the blissful realm of unconsciousness. Or was it death? Rias did not know.

The soldier's masked head turned around, presumably to survey the carnage that he and his comrades had wrought. Rias saw the black goggles rest on her.

She could almost feel the adrenaline coursing her veins, as thought was stripped away, leaving only the primal thought to survive. Despite the enormous pain she began to crawl away on her arms, dragging her mangled legs with her as she went. Her only thought was to get away from the soldier, before he could deal-

Pain! Pain unlike any other in the world. It was even worse than her shattered legs. Immediately Rias felt her right arm go numb. Deadened was the correct word. She could not even feel her arm anymore. Yet she still attempted to crawl, despite the combined pain of the now recently re-inflamed legs and the arm. With her one working arm she attempted to crawl away from whatever had dealt her that deadly pain.

She felt a foot placed on her back, felt herself being kicked over. It was that selfsame soldier, the one who had sent Irina and Xenovia into unconsciousness, and the black goggles that had gazed upon her seemed almost inhuman in the evening light. The rifle's muzzle was pointed at her face.

In the face of death Rias felt what seemed to be... _courage_. Or maybe it was pride. Either way it invigorated her pain-wracked body, and she grasped the man's foot with as much strength as she could recall.

"Shoot me, if you will!" Rias screamed. The thoughts that pounded in her head left her mouth as soundless words, and all Rias could see was the soldier, his gun pointed in an almost curious manner at her face.

"Shoot me, you damned mortal, and be over with it!"

For a second the soldier's finger curled at the trigger, and Rias welcomed it. The pain that was rife through her body was reaching a nigh-intolerable level, and a release from the pain, even if it was through death, was something that she welcomed. Her only regret was that she had not managed to lead her peerage in an effective manner; had she done so, they would have surely triumphed over the humans.

Rias Gremory's last sight, before she fell unconscious, was of the soldier turning his gun upside down.

And bringing it hard, it seemed, as hard as he could on her face.

Before the blackness took Rias, her last thought was that the pain had ended.

* * *

The lieutenant's reading of _The Tale of Genji_ was interrupted by the same sergeant that he had seen earlier.

"Sir," said the sergeant, panting. He was covered in flecks of blood, and an ugly gash was etched on his face. Sweat stained his brow, and his right arm was wrapped in a sling.

"What… what happened to you, Sergeant?" said Itami, setting down his book. "I trust the mission went well?"

"Well would be an overstatement," said the sergeant. "We lost fifty-seven men to the demons this time. All the tanks were damaged. If you add that up with the two hundred who died intially, that's a total of-"

"I can count, Sergeant. How many injured?"

"A lot, sir."

"And the state of the demons?" The lieutenant was curious with the current health of the devils. Of course, being assailed by government forces did not increase one's health, but he trusted that the soldiers would restrain and not harm the demons by a great amount.

"Sir, with the exception of one, they're all critical, sir."

"Critical?" The government's orders had to been to bring in the demons alive! How was he supposed to explain this to the Ministry, once eight corpses were shipped into Tokyo?

"Sergeant, what about the 'exception?" he said, trying to salvage something out of the scenario.

"Sir, we know what Tokyo's orders were, and we think that the one that isn't critical will help us, sir."

"What powers does this one possess?" Itami said, hoping to hear good news.

His hopes were confirmed. "This one has healing powers."

"Then good," said the lieutenant. "Get that one to heal its comrades, and then get them all under the Suppressant."

The sergeant saluted him and ran off.

Later, when he had finished reading _The Tale of Genji_ and had set to monitoring the various confused broadcasts that were emitting from around the camp, the sergeant stepped inside again. There was now a bandage slapped on the cut on his face, and the man looked noticeably more refreshed than he had earlier.

"Sir, they're all stable now. What would you like-"

"Just… just… go…" the lieutenant said, dismissing the sergeant with a wave of his hand.

He sat back on his chair and thought of the exact reason why the demons had been in critical condition. Had they fought? Probably. Had they resisted with tooth and nail? Probably. It seemed justified that they would have ended up in such a devastating condition, yet he somehow found himself feeling sorry from the demons. No one deserved to end up in critical condition, even if they were demons.

Whatever their current state of health, they were all in the hands of the State now, that much he was certain.

The lieutenant stepped outside the command tent and inhaled in a lungful of fresh air. In the distance three silver transport vehicles stood, in which the comatose bodies of the demons were currently being loaded into. He watched the trucks drive away, to some far-off prison, perhaps, or maybe even Tokyo itself. The former seemed more likely. They would probably be used to make a political point; that demons should be hunted down and killed. Then they would probably be taken behind a chemical shed somewhere and shot.

But what was he, a lowly lieutenant, to attempt to grasp what the State wanted?

Before walking back inside, the lieutenant said a short prayer for them nonetheless. Demons or not, they deserved to be given a trial.

But there was one thing that was for certain: the demons were in the hands of the State now.

Lieutenant Itami shuddered at the thought of what the State might do to the demons, and walked back inside the tent.

Like he had thought earlier, _the fate of the demons rests in Tokyo's hands._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** _Welcome to the story! It's long, and will be longer. Please give your feedback! Also, I won't be using Japanese honorifics, because to me they're just simply a hassle to use. I will still use the 'last name/first name' thing when introducing Japanese characters, however. With that in mind, scrappy out.  
_


	2. The Last Normal Day

_Just a heads up: The next few chapters will explain how my OC makes his way from being a "regular" American lawyer to meeting and subsequently representing Rias Gremory in a trial, so inevitably, the next few chapters will be OC-centric._

* * *

In the more affluent suburbs of Yonkers, nestled upon a hill to be precise, there was a house.

The house was very different from its neighbors down the road. On all sides of the hill, stately manors stood tall and proud, boasting dozens of rooms and beautiful roofs fit to adorn many a nobleman's manor. Some of the houses had been built in Colonial times, which only added to their prestige and power. It was exactly the kind of thing that the wealthy of Yonkers were looking for.

The community was not very large. The wealthy of Yonkers were few in number, and the majority of those few lived on the other side of the city, in a walled suburb not much larger than this one. As a result, the community was a tight-knit one, containing a flamboyant banker, two lesbian Wall Street brokers, one mid-level German corporate executive, an elderly couple who owned a large grocery chain downtown, and of course, the inhabitants of the house upon the hill. There were also several other denizens as well, all wealthy, of course, but they do not deserve mention here.

Such was the community spirit between the banker, the brokers, the German, the elderly couple, and the inhabitants of the house of the hill that every two weeks, on a pre-appointed Saturday, the aforementioned met at Saint Andrew's Golf Club a few miles out of the city outskirts to play golf and discuss the things that typical wealthy Americans discussed- the emerging power of the Third World in the world's economy, how Japanese manga and anime was pervading and corrupting youth culture, (notably, the inhabitants of the house upon the hill abstained from discussing that particular subject, which always invited good-natured accusations on whether the inhabitants of the house upon the hill read Japanese manga or watched anime), and how society was decaying in general. They presented themselves as the steadfast rocks upon which the devastating tidal waves of societal and moral destruction was washing. Erosion was natural of course, but they always said they would stand.

Interestingly enough, the inhabitants of the house upon the hill always refrained from discussing these matters as well, which almost always provoked awkward stares from the other rich denizens, particularly the elderly couple. It was only natural after all- those two were rooted in the traditions of the past, and the past would stay dear in their hearts until the day they died.

It was also natural that the inhabitants of the house upon the hill would be stared at. After all, the inhabitants of the house upon the hill were _different_. The others could sense it. Everything about the inhabitants of the house upon the hill was different.

For a hundred years the hill in the middle of the community had stood, bare, topped only by a few trees and soft grass. For a hundred years that hill had been a favorite place for the community's denizens to bring their young to play and socialize. It was a place where important business deals and lifelong friendships had been forged while their children played in the comforting shade of the trees that topped the hill. And those children would grow up, and inherit their parents' fortunes, and they, too, would come to the hill and watch as their own children frolicked on the hill-top, and they would watch and feel a warmth in their hearts, as they too remembered the grand old days of childhood, where all had been carefree.

All that had changed recently, however, when suddenly a construction company swarmed into the neighborhood, laying down the foundations for a new house. The sound of drills, sweaty construction workers swearing, and the general hopelessness of a construction site brought themselves to the once-peaceful and silent neighborhood. The community's inhabitants had all gathered to look in wonder as their ancestral playground was steamrollered over and ground into oblivion, to be replaced by a house.

And not by a regular stately manor, too. A new Victorian-esque manor springing up on the hill would be something everyone could live with. But _no_. To add insult to injury, the new house was one of those _modernist_ houses, one of those ugly geometrical slabs that was all the rage within the outside world. The inhabitants of the house upon the hill were extremely proud of themselves for paying for the construction of that house, and they were also proud of themselves for choosing such a good neighborhood to settle in for the foreseeable future. But to the other denizens of the community, the modernist house was an insult. It was a symbol of the working classes, those who slaved away for meagre amounts of money in compensation for their work. The modernist house was an invention of the despised working classes- it was an attempt to build a cost-effective house, so that they, with their limited financial resources, could afford such a modernist house was sacrilege- it was heresy, it was all of those things and then some. It was a blight to the previously unmarked neighborhood, and all the citizens of the community hated it.

Like all things good and bad, however, the hate of the inhabitants of the house upon the hill eventually subsided with the passage of three years' time- a surprisingly short time, if one thought about it. It probably had to do with the fact that the inhabitants of the house upon the hill had not returned the animosity they had been given. They simply accepted it and moved on, and with that, the resolve of the others weakened, and before long the inhabitants of the house upon the hill were being invited to the events that the other wealthy attended- evening banquets, golf outings, . Before they knew it, the inhabitants of the house upon the hill had been assimilated into the neighborhood.

It had not been their goal to begin with- that was, to assimilate into the neighborhood, since the inhabitants of the house upon the hill had had many, many things to worry about- the financial depression, for one, and the fact that numerous loans had to be paid off certainly all contributed to the the apathetic manner in which the inhabitants of the house upon the hill treated the hate that was thrown at them.

But now let us look directly at the inhabitants of the house upon the hill, for reading constantly about the situation of the inhabitants of the house upon the hill is rather tedious.

The house upon the hill was indeed a modernist house. The hill itself was a rather low, sloping hill, which made the offense of the modernist house 'not all that bad', as the elderly husband remarked to his wife occasionally whenever they happened to glance at the house upon the hill.

The house was made of white marble, and sported two rather large rectangular rooms sticking out of the front of the house. These rectangular obtrusions had large glass windows which, when peered upon, revealed a sitting room and kitchen, respectively. Wedged between the two large rooms was a single rectangular room which was built in a similar way- it also contained a huge glass screen which served to connect the two large rooms. Two white chairs were left on either side of the open passageways that adorned the ends of the glass room- which was a passageway unto itself- and led into the sitting room and the kitchen, which also contained a dining room.

Of course, in keeping with the sensible pragmatism of modernist houses, the 'glass passageway' was also the entrance into the house. A door was built into the glass screen, allowing for rather easy access of the interior facilities as the inhabitants of the house upon the hill saw fit.

But let us now delve into the lives of the inhabitants of the house upon the hill, for it is the inhabitants of a house that make a house a home, not just the house itself.

* * *

An odor wafted through the halls of the house upon the hill, filling all the rooms of the house with the salty smell of bacon.

Claire Bradley sat at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper. The paper in question was the _New York Times_ , which, when Claire thought about it, made her seem like a stereotypical American, which was a role that Claire did not want to play- she had been born in Yugoslavia, twelve years before that country's fall. She did not want to lose touch with her roots, and yet day by day she found herself sliding farther and farther into the unfathomable depths that made up the American culture.

She had even married an American, for crying out loud!

Claire sighed and straightened a fold in her pink terrycloth bathrobe as she stood up and stretched. The roughness of the wooden chair had started to annoy her greatly, which actually surprised her. Trivial things like chairs had not bothered her- in Yugoslavia, one would worry about the rising ethnic tensions and getting enough food to eat. Emigrating to the United States had solved many problems, but it had opened up more as it went.

For one thing, the Americans were incensed over the fact that they had to participate in the Yugoslav Wars. She understood them perfectly- the American state had just fought a war in Iraq, and would fight more wars in the decade to come. Of course, they had a right to be angry, but the Americans did not know what it was like to be a Serb in Yugoslavia during the last few years of the Federation's existence. That man Milošević had created a Serbian state independent of the greater Federation, which was great and all, but he had caused the others- the Croats, the Slovenes, the Bosnians, and all the rest- to look upon Serbs with distrust and fear. Serbs were hated and persecuted during that time, to the point where she would wake up the middle of the night to hear the routine drop of artillery shells and be hushed back to sleep by her mother. Even today, twenty years after all that had happened, she still received recurring nightmares of the ever-so steady fall of the deadly munitions.

God, those artillery shells were still so vivid, even after a decade and a half!

A slightly acrid smell told Claire that the bacon was starting to be slightly overcooked.

With a disgusted sigh she shuffled towards the kitchen and turned the electric burner off, and as she did, her gaze fell on the rashers of bacon that littered the frying pan. There were four in all, and they were freshly cooked, just the way how an American would want one to be fried. They _were_ slightly overcooked, to be precise, but they were still edible, which was what counted.

She scooped the bacon out of the pan with a spatula and dumped the slices of meat onto a plate, which she covered with a slice of toast and some scrambled eggs. With the plate in hand, Claire started the walk towards her-and by extension, her husband's- bedroom.

The food was good, true, but American food was not really 'American' in the smallest of senses. American food was a mashup of the different cultures that combined into the land occupied by the United States, which fitted the country perfectly, seeing that it was a melting pot of cultures, customs, and tastes, all dominated by the American federal government, which at times did not _dominate_ in the common sense. Case in point, the horrendous events of 9/11. Up until that point the Americans had been surprisingly lax towards the Muslims, and then they, the Muslims, had decided to hijack two planes and destroy the World Trade Centers. _Then_ America had powered up and declared its costly War on Terror, from which the nation was still recovering today.

It was all a steaming pile of nonsense, but as a citizen of the United States, Claire could not say anything to that. The government would do what it would, even through these trying times.

Opening the door into her- no, _their_ \- bedroom, Claire gazed around and breathed in the rather stagnant air, which still bore traces of what had happened last night in that very bed. She allowed her gaze to wander once more and found her reflection staring back at her through the large mirror of her dressing table. She glanced at herself, and noticed that her golden tresses, normally soft and smooth, had transformed into a extremely horrendous case of bed hair. Strands of her hair stuck out in random places on her head, and the great mass of her hair was starting to resemble a great… a great _Afro._ Yes, that was what the Americans called that strange and poofy hairstyle. An _Afro_.

She set down the steaming platter of food on the dressing table, opened a drawer, and began to comb her hair into something more presentable. After all, her husband was not really fond of bed hair.

He was not fond of a great many things.

Sitting on the dressing table, she allowed her gaze to wander around the room. Her eyes caught the beautiful Japanese paintings that they had bought some three months ago, and she glanced at the katana that she had also bought at that very time. It fitted her well, seeing that she had started learning the language a year ago, and would serve her very well if she ever went to Japan. Japanese was a strange language, but it did bear a semblance to Serbian after a while, once the basics were covered and met.

Strangely enough, her husband had not moved.

Claire waved the platter of bacon around, hoping to spread the smell of bacon around the room, hoping to wake him up. Perhaps he was deeply asleep, which was normal, after all, given the fact that he had exerted himself greatly last night. But her husband was a lawyer- and lawyers had their own internal sleep schedule- they usually woke up at the crack of dawn to start working on some case.

He was still asleep.

Claire set down the platter of bacon and tread as lightly as she could over to where her husband lay, limp and unmoving. She shook his shoulder.

He did not move.

Claire shook his shoulder again. "Come on, dear, wake up! I've got your bacon!"

He didn't move.

A creeping sensation of fear began to intrude on Claire's mind, and she gingerly extended two fingers and felt his wrist.

There was _no_ pulse.

Realization dawned on Claire at what was happening, and she covered her mouth and sank to the floor, her knees weak with fear and horror, as she realized that her husband was no longer in this world.

"Oh my God, _no!_ " she said, as she watched her hopes and dreams crumble and dissipate into dust around her.

It was the end of her world, and she buried her face in her arms, weeping as she mourned the apparent death of the man she had loved for the last four years, and the collapse of everything that they had stood for. It was a meaningless death, and Claire lamented it with all her heart.

But was he really dead?

* * *

The man in question was James Bradley, and he was indeed a lawyer.

He was also not dead.

When he had woken, his wife Claire had vanished, although he had heard the pleasurable smell of bacon crackling and frying in the kitchen a few doors down. That had to mean that Claire was frying his preferred breakfast on Saturdays- four rashers of bacon, two scrambled eggs, and a piece of French toast.

So he, being himself, had decided to play a prank on Claire. It was a very foolish prank, but it still _was_ a prank.

Normally James did not appreciate pranks, but today he was very much in the mood.

He had seized a piece of paper and stuffed it underneath his armpit, and pressed his arm as hard as he could against his body. He had then covered himself almost completely with his blanket, which concealed the trick.

He had closed his eyes as naturally as possible, and had left his affected wrist outside of the blanket in the hope that Claire would go for his wrist when she was trying to feel his pulse.

And she had. She had fallen for one of the most elementary of tricks- it was one of the older pranks in the handbook.

Now, he was privy to a series of choked sobs, which he assumed was coming from Claire.

James did not want to call his wife a fool, but sometimes there were moments like these when she became hysterically idiotic. _Go for the neck_ , he wanted to scream at her. _Go for the neck!_

Yet Claire did not go for the neck. He could still hear her sobbing, and she would probably still be sobbing as she embraced his supposed corpse. Then she would feel his warmth, and then she would feel his pulse- and all hell would break loose. Eastern Europeans like Claire were very homely and sweet, but they were capable of raising hell when they were pissed.

It was probably for the best if he revealed himself now.

Knowing Claire, she probably would still be pissed, but he had gotten himself into this mess. He would get himself out of it, just as he had done with a dozen other such 'messes'. The real wild card in this case was Claire. It was up to her to decide if he got out of this unscathed or not.

James tensed himself, a dozen scenarios rushing through his mind as he tried to think of the best ways to surprise Claire. He finally settled on a rather simple movement that would easily get this whole ordeal over with.

Sometimes, the simple things were often the hardest things to do.

"BOO!" he roared as he sprang into motion, leaping off the bed and wrapping Claire in a great bear hug. He held her, and as they tumbled to the floor, he hugged her tightly, and he thought that his wife had never felt better in his arms.

"James?" Claire said, an air of sadness and surprise mixed in her voice.

"Yep. Figured I was playing-"

She slapped him. It was a particularly painful slap- Eastern Europeans were also known for their painful Gypsy-style slaps, and Claire was no different. He was thrown back nearly a foot before coming to his senses.

"YOU MADE ME THINK YOU WERE DEAD! _ANIMALISTICKA DETE_! DO YOU KNOW HOW SCARED I WAS!?" she shouted, throwing pillows at him. "HOW FEARFUL I WAS, FOR OUR FUTURE!? YOU AMERICAN _KOPILE_!"

She smacked the back of his head- hard, but not enough to injure. It was a distasteful smack. Like the kind of smack that one would give to a friend when they pissed you off, but not in a rageful manner.

Nevertheless, when one got hit by one's wife in that manner, one knew that one was doing something wrong.

"What does _kopile_ mean, again?" James said groggily. "I got the _animalistic child_ part, but what the hell does-"

"BASTARD!" she screamed at him, smacking his head once again.

"Ouch!" he said, his head throbbing as he rolled over, clutching his injured head. "You Eastern Europeans sure know how to pack a punch…"

"Racist," she snarled as she picked him up by the arms and hauled him back into their bed. "Why'd you do that?"

"I don't know, to be honest," James said, shrugging. "It just came to me, you know? It's like teenagers suddenly deciding to go and graffiti a highway sign. Which is pretty difficult to do, by the way. Honestly, have you ever seen those highway signs? It's pretty damn hard-"

"ENOUGH! That is not the point. The point is that you scared the absolute life out of me for no apparent reason!" she said, with tears starting to swim in her eyes. "You made me think that you were dead…."

" Claire," he groaned, putting a hand to his rapidly throbbing head, "you don't have to go into hysterics-"

" _Hysterics_?!" she said, wiping away tears as she spoke. He could hear anger creeping into his wife's voice, and she turned to him, her sky-blue eyes brimming with even more tears. "Do you think that faking death is something that does not merit _hysterics_?! Death, whether it is real or not, merits a _lot_ of hysterics! And more! Death is a complicated thing, and its bestowal grants suffering to all involved! Death is _not_ a thing to be taken lightly, James!"

She looked at him, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Then she burst forth in another round of half-suppressed sobs as she buried her face in her hands, tears flowing almost like water through the cracks of her hands.

James suddenly felt a pang of guilt. It arced through his mind and laced his thoughts with the unmistakable stench of guilt. It forced him to reexamine his memories and look at all the experiences he had shared with this woman- his wife- and it made him look at the negative aspects of each and every memory. It made him look at the pain and suffering- whether it was great or almost nonexistent, that he had caused this woman, and it amplified all that by a thousand times, and thrust it all into his face.

He did not know how long he sat there mulling over the results of his actions- it could have been mere minutes- but it felt like hours. Every second seemed like an agonizing minute, every minute an hour- and so forth. There had only been a few moments in his life when he had felt like this, and _those_ moments had included far worse situations than this.

As she finally calmed down, he decided to speak, choosing his words with care. "... Claire… my dear. I'm sorry. I .. I didn't think you'd take it _that_ seriously. What can I do to make it up to you?"

With a single motion Claire brushed the stagnant tears from her eyes as she turned to face him. "I'm not _mad_ , James. I'm just hurt that you would go to such extremes as to faking your own death- for a mere _prank_."

She gazed at him, with hurt prevalent in her eyes. "Always you were a little _meshuga_." She crawled the short distance separating them and buried her face in his chest, more choked sobs coming out of Claire.

Again it seemed like eternity as he sat there, holding her in his arms as he sat there, pondering the magnitude of his prank.

Finally Claire retreated from her near-deathlock on his chest and stared at him, the glistening tracks of her tears still visible on her face.

"Promise me you won't do anything like that, okay?" Claire said at last.

"Okay…." he said, stroking the top of her golden-haired head mutely. It seemed like he was making mechanical movements- like he was on autopilot, stroking her hair and attempting to calm her. The thought of it sickened him.

For the longest while they sat there in their embrace, silent and forlorn. Neither of the couple made any movements, save for James' repeated stroking of the top of Claire's golden head.

He had just started to get comfortable when she suddenly wrenched herself out of his grasp and turned to look at him. James caught a somewhat mischievous look in her eyes as she bounded off the bed, before she turned to look at him.

The look was gone, but deep in his heart James suspected that his wife was up to some mischief.

* * *

Her husband had chosen to prank her, so she decided to return the favor.

She climbed out of the bed and walked out of the bedroom, bringing the cold bacon and eggs with her as she went.

As she exited the bedroom, she caught his glance, and his glance showed many things- hurt and fear were the most prevalent. He looked downright sorry, which was something that James usually did not show. She had seen him at work, and at social gatherings. He was always that one person who was able to throw in a snide remark at anyone and everyone, whether they were the lowliest of the low, or the President of the United States.

Today James needed a lesson in humility. He needed to be taught what it meant like to be on the receiving end of his cruel statements, what it felt like to be the butt of his jokes- not that James insulted her. Oh, no, he never did. But sometimes, there were occasions like these, where James needed to be _taught_. Or, to use one of James' expletives, she was going to _kick his ass_.

"Where are you going with my breakfast?" James said, looking at her with a bemused expression.

¨Don't worry dear. I'm just reheating it- it's gone cold. And while I'm at it- I forgot to get you coffee. What would you like it with?"

"As strong as you can make it," James said, before he turned away, his back to her. "And while you're at it, could you put some cream on it, too? Thanks."

"So be it," Claire said, a smirk growing across her face. That was certainly not the way to talk to one's wife after one had pretended that one was dead. But she pushed the thought out of her head, because she had a far more devious retribution in mind. Playing dead would pale in comparison to what she was about to do.

She made the quick journey from the bedroom to the kitchen, where she placed the platter of bacon and eggs down on the quartz-embossed counter. Claire then opened one of the many cabinets and took out a medium-sized coffee mug, which she promptly begin to fill with coffee from the French coffee press that had been left out from last night. It still had enough water in it to fill the mug halfway, which served her purpose.

She walked to the liquor cabinet and looked through the extensive collection of wine that they had accumulated through their roughly two-and-a-half years of marriage. There were some champagnes that James had given her on their wedding night, and some Burgundian wines that she had acquired soon after as a gift to him, as well as some _rakija_ \- Serbian fruit brandy. Actually, _some_ was an understatement- there was a _lot_ of _rakija_. But _rakija_ would not serve her purpose. It had a high alcoholic content, to be sure, but it was still just a kind of alcoholic drink. Although James did not drink a lot- which she supposed he did for her sake- he had shown an amazing tolerance for alcoholic drinks in the past, and would be able to tolerate the strongest of _rakija_ without much effort.

However, her father had once given her a bottle of _pelinkovac_ on her twenty-first birthday. _Pelinkovac_ , as she had promptly learned, was an _extremely_ bitter liqueur. Claire had taken one sip of the drink and spat it out, and then spent the rest of the day washing out her tongue with honey. It was not a pleasurable experience, and she had watched her father barely contain his tears of mirth. She had accepted the drink, and subsequently flung it where she could not see it, never to see the light of day again. Until now, of course. Now, when she desperately needed the bottle, it was nowhere to be found.

Now, if she could only find the bottle of _pelinkovac_.

She dug through the kitchen for a while before she found what she was looking for; it was in the the top shelf, which not even James knew of. It was her secret wine cabinet, where she stored all the wine that James didn't know about. It was her guilty pleasure.

She pulled the large, black bottle out. She was about to pour it into the cup, when she realized there was still coffee in the cup. She contemplated this for a minute. Should she at least give him a _little_ bit of the real coffee? _No_ , she decided. He had pretended to be _dead_. She didn't know what was going through her husband's idiotic mind, but she decided to give him not even a little bit of mercy. She poured out the rest of the coffee and started filling it with the bitter liquid , when she remembered something else. Her husband wanted cream in his coffee. How was she supposed to make it look like regular coffee with cream!? After some deliberation, she settled on just using milk, but put it through the blender to make sure the milk actually somewhat mixed with the bitter liquid.

After putting the foul mix through the blender, she decided to torture her husband some more just for the sake of it. Rummaging in the cabinet where she stored basic ingredients for culinary purposes, Claire located the jars of sugar and salt and set them on the table. Then, she took out some black truffles, which she found at the back of the refrigerator, and crushed them vigorously to look like black pepper. She took the sugar and the "pepper" and sprinkled it on his eggs. Then she took a heaping spoonful of salt and dumped it in the blender, to mix it with the 'coffee.' _Oh yes_ , Claire thought, _James is going to LOVE this_!

Another idea struck her. She felt like she was on a roll here. Taking the bacon rashers, she dipped them in a mix of water and sugar until they were thoroughly soaked, and then carefully wiped off the excess water in order to deflect notice.

Then, she realized she had forgotten the french toast. Again, she considered giving him a _little_ bit of mercy but once again, decided not to spare him. She took the french toast and soaked it in soy sauce. Surprisingly, it still looked like french toast. She put maple syrup on it too, just to make sure he would taste the disgusting combination of the salty sauce and the sweet syrup.

Satisfied with her work, she took the plate to James. He took the plate eagerly and his mouth watered.

Oh, if he only knew what was in store for him!

* * *

Claire grinned when she returned, and James found himself not trusting that grin, which was rare for him.

"I used my special recipe for the eggs, bacon, and french toast, dear. Go ahead and try it!"

Trusting in his instincts, James picked up the fork and stabbed at the eggs. They looked extremely appetizing, and smelled rather alright. The second they touched his mouth he knew something wasn't right. However, he knew that she had probably worked extremely hard to prepare an American-style breakfast, so he ate the eggs, gulping them down with a flourish. They didn't taste right- they were too salty and bitter at the same. And he detected hints of sweetness in the eggs as well. Eggs didn't go well with sweetness. Yet the true taste of eggs did shine through, and he focused on that, trying to capture the essence and taste of some good, unaltered fried eggs.

Unfortunately, he was only able to take about two bites before he gave up. It was simply too disgusting to keep on eating. He set the remains of the eggs down on the plate and smiled sheepishly at his wife.

"Wow. That's…..erm…..really good Claire."

She smiled wider. "Thank you, James. Wait until you try the bacon."

With the hope that the bacon was better, he picked up and shoved it into his mouth eagerly. Again, something was terribly wrong with the bacon. It was sweet- too sweet for bacon, anyway. But once again, he didn't want to hurt his wife's feelings any more than he had done. So he choked one of the rashers down. Again, he couldn't bring himself to eat the rest.

He picked up the french toast. It seemed a bit soggy.

"Claire, why is this french toast wet?"

"Oh, I soaked it in a bit of brown sugar and water to make it a little sweeter." _Quick thinking, Claire_.

Once again hoping that the toast was a bit better than the previous two items, he took a big bite of one piece.

Two tastes filled his mouth. Extremely sweet and extremely salty. Two tastes that did not, should not, go together. Ever. Resisting the urge to gag, he choked down the piece. She had most likely messed up the recipe for the bacon and eggs and toast, and he did not blame her. For Claire's sake, James finally resolved to eat all the food that she had set down before him.

Putting his utensils down, he picked up the coffee mug. It looked suspiciously like some regular coffee, but after eating the bacon and eggs, he could not be very sure that the coffee wasn't… _changed_ …. as well.

"Well….that was _delicious_ , Claire. Did you use any _special_ recipe for the coffee too?"

"Oh no. I made your coffee just how you like it."

Eager to have something that _wouldn't_ make his taste buds beg for mercy, he grabbed the coffee and gulped it down. _All of it._

A plethora of tastes filled his mouth- and they mostly leaned on the bitter side. The _extremely_ bitter side. He leaped up and made a mad dash for the bathroom. Throwing the door aside with a slam, he vomited what little food he had eaten into the toilet, which, mixed with the mostly undigested coffee, made an ugly brown mixture. He flushed the mix as fast as he could, and watched the stuff disappear with a flourish. Then he grabbed some toothpaste and slathered it in his mouth, which eased off the bitterness of the coffee quite a bit. Swishing and spitting with water relieved the horrendous taste even more, and after two minutes of repeating that, his mouth started to recover some sense of normalcy.

Finally he got up from the sink and walked over to his bedroom again, where he was greeted by a smug-looking Claire, a triumphant smile etched across her face.

"Good God, woman! Are you trying to _poison_ me?"

Claire smirked. "As you Americans say: _Karma's a bitch._ " she said in a perfect American accent. For once the Serbian accent that pervaded her English was gone, and that made James wonder if she had used that accent to piss him off. He had always found it strangely attractive. _Very_ attractive.

The corners of his lips turned up into a smirk, and a tightness flooded him- it was that tightness which he equated to affection. Affection for the woman who currently sat on the bed in front of him, his wife. She could piss him off to no end, but somehow he always found himself forgiving her. That was the thing he had learned about marriage- one had to learn to forgive the other. Not for horrible things, like extramarital affairs, secret murder, shoe theft, or anything like that, but rather the small things in life, like this. And then, if things were played right, one could bond over these small annoying things.

He pulled her towards him and pressed his mouth to hers. After a very satisfying moment, he pulled back and grinned sheepishly. "I guess I deserved that, didn't I?"

She smiled against his lips. "Yes. Yes, you did. How I fell for such an immature man, I'll never know."

And with that, she pulled him back to her as they fell back onto the bed, never once moving apart.

They didn't know what challenges they would face in the future- there were a lot of challenges out there, after all- but for now, they were perfectly content in each other's arms.

* * *

 _Small pointer: I forgot to credit DemGrayEyesDoh as my beta reader. She's a great beta reader, and I think you should go give her story a look._

 _Disclaimer: She made me write that._


	3. And So It Begins

James' law office was located on a recently renovated warehouse on the Yonkers waterfront. The warehouse itself was an old thing. According to the realtor who had sold the building to him, it had stood since the Second World War, used by a sardine company that had dissolved in the late nineties. The building had then proceeded to gather dust and stand unused until he had come along with a newly minted bundle of loaned cash from his legal partner and bought the damned place.

The warehouse itself was a massive two-building complex, with a separate building set aside for offices, as well as the former processing building itself. When James had first bought the place, he had actually thought about opening a sardine shipping company as well. _A lawyer and a sardine shipper. How nice_. The very notion that he would have opened a _sardine company_ made him shudder with embarrassment.

But Claire had talked him out of it, like she always did with his other, rather questionable ventures.

Being from a modest background, he had actually helped the renovation company renovate the warehouse. He had lifted large planks, helped set up window planes, and actually fixed the ancient plumbing, all the while aware of the nervous glances the workers gave him as they, too, worked. It was natural, after all- the possible chance of James getting injured while working was a lawsuit just _waiting_ to happen.

But fortunately nothing had happened, and the Law Offices of Bradley Japhon had opened soon after.

Of course, his firm utilized the entire office wing, being a law firm and all. He had first thought of using only a small section and leasing the entire building out to local startups, but as his firm grew, he found that they needed the entire wing just to run smoothly. Seven lawyers comprised his firm, including himself, and they used the entire building as their personal battleground, from where they waged battles in the pursuit of justice.

Of course, that might have been because there was so much space to begin with.

That, of course, left the question of the former processing building. After some deliberation, he had leased it to a local architecture firm which had just been kicked out of their former hideout during the financial crisis. Having just bought his warehouse, he had accepted their rental agreement for the princely sum of five thousand dollars a month. It certainly felt good to have some money in one's pocket that didn't come from legal matters.

The situation was also perfect for other things as well. Claire was an architect- a newly minted one, in fact. Unfortunately for his wife, the Recession had closed down many architecture firms and caused others to downsize, leaving no work for his wife. James had then done himself a favor by introducing her to the local architects, who, with some skepticism, accepted Claire into their firm. James suspected that they had initially accepted her not because they thought she was a good architect, but because he was their landlord. Which was true. He had indeed used his landlord status to force his wife on the architects, and he had thought it nice that they accepted her without much thought.

So he parked the Mercedes in front of the processing house, and watched as Claire opened the door, handbag in hand.

"Thanks, dear," Claire said, smiling at him.

"It's nothing," said James, before reversing the Mercedes to the designated parking lot on the side of the warehouse office. He exited the car, and sprinted from the office to the processing house, where he caught his wife on the shoulder just as she was about to enter the building.

"See ya, Claire," he said, shooting off a mock salute.

Claire smiled. Then she frowned. "You forgot your briefcase," she said disdainfully.

"My briefcase? You know I always leave it in your car," James replied.

"Just go to work," his wife said again, giving him a chaste peck on the lips as she said so. She opened the door to her workplace and soon disappeared from sight.

After sprinting another round back to Claire's Mercedes and grabbing his briefcase, he entered his law firm. He passed beneath the glass-paneled door which bore his name:

 _James Bradley - Willis Japhon_

 _Attorneys At Law_

 _I sure hope Willis isn't doing anything retarded today_ , he thought, before entering his private office.

Later he realized that it was a premonition. When he went inside, he could clearly see his legal partner sitting there in front of his desk. Willis was obviously waiting for him.

"Good morning, James," Willis said somberly, which did not fit his partner's usual mood, "how's your day? Or to be more specific, how was Sunday?"

"Yesterday was okay," James replied, before walking over to his desk and sitting down, "how are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Willis. The man fidgeted with his shoes quite a bit before responding. "You know I live alone and all, so, uh…"

"What? You got yourself a _girlfriend_?" James said, emphasizing the word. On second thought, he actually felt sorry for his partner. The man was single, and would probably stay so for the rest of his life.

"Noo… uh… McKinley's trial is today." Willis said after a while.

"Oh, right, McKinley." This particular McKinley was a fellow named Edward McKinley, an ill-mannered fellow with a long record of misdemeanors. According to police records, McKinley had killed a certain man by the name of Jacob Tamar. Yet the witnesses had said that McKinley had only pushed the man over the stool. Yet he was dead, with at least five shards of glass in his neck. And McKinley's bloodied fingerprints were all over Tamar's shirt.

After some determined digging, James had found it to be a case of involuntary manslaughter- McKinley had indeed only pushed Tamar over. The other man's neck had landed on a fallen beer bottle, which naturally sent glass shards into his jugular vein, killing him in a matter of minutes. Mckinley, being drunk, had staggered through the rapidly growing pool of blood, and left said fingerprints on Tamar's corpse, before finally collapsing outside.

Yet the damned press had still inflated the case by a great deal, so that it was hard to find impartial jurors.

James personally thought the case was doomed to fail, yet he still strived to fight for McKinley. A lawyer's job was to fight for his client, no matter how demonized or mud-splattered said client had become- rather like Atticus Finch, the lawyer-hero of _To Kill A Mockingbird._ In fact, ever since he had started taking up these kinds of cases, the quotes and sayings of this famous fictional attorney had begun forcing their way through his head. They were stupid, annoying, and yet all too true.

 _The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience._

Hell yeah.

James turned to ask Willis what _his_ opinion on the whole McKinley case was, but decided against it.

Willis Japhon- the 's' in his name was not silent- had apparently been born on the West Coast to a wealthy banking family that owned roughly forty percent of JP Morgan Chase. He had grown up during the late 80's- the Reagan years, as well as the fall of the Soviet Union and the succeeding Bush and Clinton administrations. His family had sent him over to the East Coast to study at Columbia, which was a far more prestigious law school than the humble institution that was Brooklyn Law. Granted, Brooklyn was a great place, but Columbia was a far better place to go to school- which, for someone of such a wealthy background like Willis, was child's play.

In his last year of law school he had met the man, who had been wandering around Central Park like some kind of vagrant, if vagrants were immaculately groomed and dressed in tan suits. He had sat down with Willis, and talked to him, and it was then known that they were both lawyers. When he had graduated from Brooklyn, and Willis from Columbia, he had sat the man down and talked to him about constructing a law firm, because there had been no one else willing to enter such a partnership. Surprisingly, Willis had accepted, and he had also been the one to provide James with the start-up capital loan, being the son of wealthy bankers and all. The only catch with this was that Willis was a tax attorney- something that he didn't really want in his firm. James had a mind to construct a firm that handled criminal cases and defended criminals, and he wanted to be respected by every lawyer in Yonkers. Willis Japhon did not fit into that well-oiled machine, but was he one to turn down a no-interest loan, especially in the wake of the Recession? No. So Willis Japhon came along, adding his tax services to James' otherwise criminal defense-oriented firm. He was also a certified tax accountant, which drew people who wouldn't have otherwise come to his law offices. And, as Willis was always ever so apt to say as he did his clients' taxes, "if you got some problems, like a divorce or some nasty ex who won't stay away, feel free to give James Bradley a ring! His office's just 'round the corner." There was also "You and me both- the IRS is a pain in the neck," and other tax-related issues, but James was fine with that. A little extra money in the pocket was a good feeling, even if it came from the efforts of a SoCal tax lawyer.

The only problem with this was that Willis happened to be one of the most annoying people he had ever known- SoCal tax lawyer or otherwise.

Willis Japhon was certainly not incompetent, but he wasn't exactly competent, either. He could be found wandering around the firm, taking random glances at the other lawyers' papers, or chewing random foods loudly while James was attempting to explain the basics of criminal law to some lowlife. Once, the district prosecutor had arrived at the warehouse while James wasn't there. Naturally, it fell to Willis to treat with the man while James rushed his ass to get there. He found Willis trying to entice the district prosecutor with _fucking tuna sandwiches._

Nevertheless, Willis' jovial, carefree manner certainly brought a cheery tone to the otherwise somber mood of a law firm.

It really did make James feel rather disheartened to see Willis Japhon, of all people, look sad.

"Well, the trial's due to start, I think, at 3:00," said Willis, and James could just hear the beginnings of Willis' usual joyfulness to creep back into his tone. "Do you want to go grab a brisket sandwich? There's a place which just opened-"

"Willis," James said, raising his hand, "the workday just _started_ , for heaven's sake! We can't go off to get a _brisket sandwich_!"

"Oh, right, of course," said Willis, straightening in his seat.

"And by the way, Willis, it's called a _burger_. You don't use "brisket sandwich" anymore."

"But…", said Willis, holding a finger up, "a brisket sandwich is a sandwich with hamburger buns that's full of meat! A hamburger is, well, a hamburger bun that's-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Willis, I don't need a food lecture!" James said. He slapped his briefcase on the table before giving Willis a stern glare. "Give me the stuff on the McKinley case."

"Oh, uh…" Willis handed him a beige folder containing the small brief concerning the case of Edward McKinley. He scanned through it briefly. _Same old, same old_ , _continuance of the trial, blah blah blah blah._ He set down the brief and smiled at Willis.

"So you did get it through, eh?"

"Yes," said Willis. "I worked through it while eating a-"

"Shut up," said James, fishing out his special ballpoint pen from his mahogany pen holder. It was a rich dark blue with a gold-covered chrome tip, and he clicked it twice before setting to work.

"And I really don't need to hear about brisket sandwiches," said James, when he saw Willis' bemused expression. "Brisket sandwiches are _fucking stupid_."

"Oh.. well… of course…" said Willis. "I'll just.. Uh.. be in my office… filing taxes from thirty different people. You know," said Willis, picking up some steam, "we've had thirty people drop by with tax returns, which is pretty great? But usually there's more, which makes me wonder if-"

"Willis," said James, sighing heavily, "shut up and do your work."

Willis frowned at him, but it wasn't a disapproving frown like any other person would if they had gotten such a stern phrase. Rather, it was the frown of a child, a child who has been berated and yelled at.

"Can I do it in your office?"

"Sure," said James, sighing again, "whatever floats your boat."

"Yay!" said Willis, before leaving the office, whistling as he went. James heard a surprisingly good strain of Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ float around his office before finally fading away into the nothingness.

For the third time today James sighed in displeasure. _Willis Japhon_ , he thought to himself, _whatever will I do with you_?

* * *

Although the people in Yonkers who knew him had already formed an image of him as a criminal lawyer, James did not think of it that way. Rather, those who had been accused of crimes often came to him for counsel. _Which_ , he basically surmised, _does make me a criminal lawyer after all._

Yet his firm handled all kinds of cases. It just so happened to be that they were _mostly_ of the criminal vein.

His only companion as of the moment was Willis Japhon, who sat on the far end of the defense table, whistling happily to himself. As he watched, Willis twiddled his thumbs, uncrossed his legs twice, looked around, and repeated the whole cycle.

Willis was not fit for a courtroom- he never would be- but he was still a good co-counsel in the sense of producing effective paperwork when James most needed it. His attitude did not serve James very well, but it helped to put others at ease, like potential defendants or opposing lawyers, which allowed James to effectively defeat them.

The presiding judge was a sixty-something by the name of Willard Scott- he had no connection to the TV anchor- and the judge was a hardcase. As a judge Scott was a tough one, a tried-and-true Republican who was very quick to hand out harsh prison times, and in some cases, the death penalty. People avoided Scott, but James relished battling the man. It was a challenge that gnashed its ugly jaws at him, and sometimes he thought about going through other judges, but going through Scott somehow sent elation through his being. It was like going fishing and hooking a large one.

"The jury is taking a long time," said Edward McKinley, who was sitting next to him at the defense table.

Edward McKinley was a somewhat heavyset white man with sideburns and a round, almost cheery face. It was rather hard to believe that this man was an accused criminal, but then the Green River Killer hadn't looked much like a murderer either.

"Sir," said McKinley somewhat urgently, putting a hand on James' shoulder, "do you think they're going to convict me?"

James roused himself and looked around at the sparsely populated courtroom, ignoring the soreness that came from sitting in one place for too long. Behind him the wall stood, cold and empty in its grandeur. On the other side of the courtroom, the local prosecutor and his staff sat, and behind them the jury. _They're the most important part of a trial_ , he supposed, _maybe even more than the judge himself._ A quick, reassuring glance of the jury revealed that they were intensely debating something, and that Judge Scott was scowling intensely.

"Edward," said James, "look at the jury. Does it look like they'll convict you?"

McKinley looked at the debating jury with wide, fearful eyes. They did not notice McKinley's glance, which James was grateful for. Had they seen his glance, they would have probably seen that as proof of suspicion.

It was not like McKinley needed more beef anyway. He was already surely going to be convicted of involuntary manslaughter, but the local media had inflamed the case into what had seemed like murder, which was what James was trying to dispel.

"Yes," was the man's quivering reply.

Before James could come up with an effective response, the judge's gavel crashed against the bench, as it had been doing many times over the course of the trial.

"Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?" Judge Scott asked brusquely.

The foreman, a mousey-looking man in grey overalls, stood up and looked around before clearing his throat, speaking in a strangely high-pitched voice that reminded James of Willis' own aggravating pitch.

"No, Your Honor, We haven't. We're still deadlocked."

What few spectators there were suddenly erupted into a buzz of activity. The judge glared around angrily before rapping his gavel loudly against the bench, hushing the talk. He scowled at the spectators briefly, before sitting back down.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it is inconceivable that you would need more time. But if it is necessary, I will of course allocate more time so that we can reach a verdict."

The foreman sighed. "Your Honor, it's no good. We're not going to agree."

The judge stared at the foreman intensely. "Mr. Foreman," he said, waving his hands at the sunset-tinted windows, "it is late. But as American citizens, do you not recognize the need to lend yourself without abandon to the pursuit of justice?" He paused, then added, "Are you _sure_ that the jury can't reach a verdict?"

"No, Your Honor," said the foreman, "it's simply impossible."

James felt a surge of elation. Despite a large portion of Yonkers being inflamed towards his client, he had managed to snag a promising jury, something which he still thanked his lucky stars for. Their potential had revealed themselves to him when they had opposed pretty much everything that the prosecutor had attempted to do. But their potential was at its apex with the foreman's decision, and James was glad. He was not sure of Willis' reaction, but Willis was all smiles as he listened to the foreman give his statement.

"If I gave you a night of rest and hereby resumed tomorrow to carry out your deliberations, do you believe that you could carry on your verdict?"

"No, sir," said the foreman, and the eleven other jury members stepped forth and affirmed their spokesman's decision.

"Very well," the judge said, after a long pause. He leaned back in his chair and gazed sadly across the courtroom, his eyes drifting briefly over James with what he judged to be disdain, before returning back to the jury. He said, at last, after another long pause, in a soft, almost incredulous voice, "I will excuse you now, ladies and gentlemen, and declare a mistrial. The cause of justice is always strengthened when honest people debate an issue, whether they agree or not. Mr. Foreman, I need to talk with you for a bit before you leave. The rest of you-" he seemed to be looking at James as he said this- " _are dismissed_."

James sighed and looked at McKinley, who breathed a great sigh of relief. He looked remarkably calm for someone who had just had just had their precious time before prison extended.

"So this means-" said McKinley, before Willis cut him off.

"I _think_ with a mistrial, you basically get an extension. This trial basically never happened, see?" said Willis in his ebullient manner. He swung his arm in a wide circle and grinned insanely wide, brilliant white teeth showing. "So, that means that you _could_ get a new judge. And a new jury! And a new attorney-"

"Willis," said James, rolling his eyes, "shut the hell up."

"But," was Willis' reply, "what I was saying was right! That's what happens during-"

James rolled his eyes, and exchanged glances with the district prosecutor, a certain Reed DeWolfe, who was still sitting at the prosecution's table. DeWolfe was no fool; he most certainly knew that McKinley had not deserved a first-degree murder charge. In pursuing that option, he had yielded to Judge Scott's fury, and the grand jury which had made the decision to indict had done so because DeWolfe had made the request. Or could a man in DeWolfe's position, egged on by ambition, acclaimed by the Yonkers newspapers, smothered by the friendship of the Judge, have much room in his mind for logical thinking? Would there ever come a time in criminal jurisprudence when prosecutors in general might think of themselves as patrons of the innocent as much as they did as pursuers of the guilty? As long as the office of prosecutor remained a steppingstone to greater political ambitions, it seemed doubtful that prosecutors would be 'good.'

Judge Scott was pounding on his bench again.

James looked up and the Judge was staring at him. "The Court has decided to withhold its decision regarding another trial until seven o'clock next Wednesday morning, Mr. Bradley. In that time… you know what you must do."

James nodded respectfully and stood up. He was honestly surprised that the judge had accorded him that much respect. During the course of the trial there had been times when the judge had screamed at him and overruled everything that he said. Judge Scott had established a reputation for himself as one who did not forget Perhaps it was the realism of defeat that created such respect; to know that the one that you had relentlessly hounded and insulted throughout the last two months had suddenly come up to defeat you with a mistrial.

"You'll visit me, right?" said McKinley once they had exited the courthouse.

"Well, it depends on if you want to rehire us as your attorneys." said Willis, interjecting before James could make a response. "You know, there are countless other attorneys out there that will be just itching to try-"

James socked Willis in the elbow, causing the younger man to give a blood-curdling howl as he jumped into the air. When he came down again he looked at James with a sad smile. "Sorry…"

" _You bitch_ ," hissed James, " _you're pushing him away, you imbecile_!"

" _Sorry!_ " Willis wheezed, even though James had not harmed his breathing capacity in anyway.

McKinley looked at the two of them with a skeptical look. "Is it just me," said the man, "or are you two acting like a married couple?"

"We're not, Edward," said James quickly. He glared at Willis angrily before smiling sheepishly at McKinley.

McKinley whistled and buried his hands deep in his pockets. "So, do I have to go to jail or something?"

"No," said James quickly, before Willis could get the chance to answer. "Normally, you would, actually. But a mistrial has occurred, which means you get to go home- under police watch of course. In fact, a police officer should be here in a while to pick you up and drive you to your place of residence. In short, they're placing you under house arrest."

A smile spread slowly across McKinley's face; he whistled again, and this time James could hear some badly sung strains of _The Final Countdown_. Then he looked back at James, and this time the smile had transformed into a wide grin.

"Thank you, Mr. Bradley," said Edward McKinley. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

McKinley grasped James' hand and shook it vigorously; not too over the top, but vigorous nonetheless. McKinley shook his hand for a full half a minute, before finally letting go. When James' hand had been released from the man's meaty grip, it throbbed, and his shoulders threw out little jolts of pain which wormed their way through his body.

"Yes, yes," said James. Right now he was waiting for the police officer to take McKinley away. He had initially thought that Willis was the only strange person on the block; now there were two. Between the two- an idiotic tax attorney and a retail store employee who had _almost_ been convicted of manslaughter, he did not know which he wanted to avoid.

Finally a police car pulled up by the curb. The lone officer stepped out, and opened the back door, motioning to McKinley as he did so. "Sir," said the officer in a deep tone, "you're Edward McKinley, are you not?"

McKinley, to his credit, kept a straight face when the officer addressed him. "Yes… Yes, I am."

The officer said briskly, "Get in. You are hereby under house arrest until another trial regarding your case can be scheduled."

McKinley smiled at James one last time, and duly complied with the office. James watched the man stuff his bulk into the car. The officer merely stood at the door, waiting for McKinley to finish getting in. Once he did, the officer slammed the door shut and walked over to the driver's side again, entering the car and slamming the driver's door shut.

He watched the car recede into the background, and he heaved a gasp of relief. Another man who had not deserved a hefty sentence had been saved. In all fairness, it was the media's fault- like him, they were on a never-ending quest for the pursuit of money, and grossly exaggerating facts was something that attracted more viewers to their stations. Just like how he went snooping around for more criminal cases to pounce upon.

He turned to Willis. The man was fidgeting with his briefcase, opening and closing the thing again, and oohing and ahing over the contents, which he had seen a thousand times.

"Willis," said James, sighing in disgust, "what in the Sam Hill are you doing with that briefcase?"

"Me?" said Willis. He open and closed it once more, and turned to look at James with a wide grin, reminiscent of the one that McKinley had given him just minutes ago. "Opening and closing this briefcase!"

"Willis," said James, sighing, "no one opens and closes briefcases as fast as you do. It's late. Hurry up or I'm going to abandon you here."

"But James," said Willis, as he began to follow James' brisk walk towards the Mercedes which still remained parked in the parking lot, "you can't just leave me on the steps of the courthouse! You know as well as I do that questionable things happen out in the night!"

"For-" James began to say, but decided against it. Once more, he turned to Willis. "I was being _sarcastic,_ you scatterbrained moron! Get some fucking brains!"

"Oh," was Willis' somewhat sad reply. The tax attorney looked down at the ground and mumbled something unintelligible. Then he looked back at James.

"So how are we going to get home?"

James sighed and gestured towards his wife's Mercedes. "We're going to use Claire's Mercedes," he said without gusto. "What did you expect, a taxi? This ain't New York!"

"Oh," said Willis, opening the passenger's seat. "Can I ride shotgun?"

"No, that's Claire's seat. Get in the back." He had no intention of letting the idiot sit next to him for the duration of the ride back to the office and home.

"You mean the trunk?"

James slapped the driver's wheel in frustration. "What did you think? That I was actually going to stuff you in the trunk? Get your head out of the sand, and into reality. Sit in the back."

"O… okay," said Willis, and a moment later the back door opened, and Willis climbed inside.

Plugging his keys into the ignition, James pulled the Mercedes out of the parking lot and drove down the street. _Soon_ , he thought, _the walking abomination that is Willis Japhon will be silenced for yet another day_. Yet that thought didn't make him feel any better. Willis would be silenced, yes, but the next day he would be seen again, asking his utterly idiotic questions and acting strange. Had he been dropped on the head as a child? Probably. Sometimes James wanted to sue the Japhon family for unleashing such a monstrosity on him. The fact that the Japhon family possessed far more wealth than he did was probably the only thing that held him back.

Probably the one thing that had turned to be alright about this day was that he was going to be able to see Claire again.

James smiled. The thought of seeing her, even if it was after a trial and combatting the various idiocies of Willis Japhon, was a good one.

Now, if he could only survive seven more minutes of his co-counsel...

* * *

"So the media didn't make an appearance, then?" said Claire, frowning slightly. James watched his wife take out a small blueberry muffin from the refrigerator, then walk over with quick, bounding steps to where he sat on the couch.

He had not bothered to take off his suit after getting home, which was mostly Willis' fault. The man had jabbered and talked his head off while in the backseat, annoying James to no end. Claire had humored Willis, of course, but that was because Claire was being herself- a friendly, amicable individual who was able to extend a hand of friendship to almost anyone- even Willis, the damned idiot.

"No," he replied briefly, to answer Claire's question. "It was a clandestine court session, so the media didn't know. They'll be on our asses soon enough after they find out that the mistrial went down without their ever-watchful supervision."

"Deception and trickery," said Claire, starting to pick at her muffin. "Is that what being a lawyer is all about?"

"Certainly," said James. He laughed to himself softly, and patted the cushion next to him on the old couch. "Come, sit here."

Claire snorted. "As if! I have work to do, and you are certainly not interfering with it! You should get yourself washed, too. You've worn that suit since morning! Get yourself cleaned!"

"And I thought eastern Europeans like you worked hard," said James, hoping to prod his wife on.

" _Acch_ , James," Claire said, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. "Must you go into racial topics as well?"

"Yes, I can. Now come, and sit beside me."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Fine, then. But I shall work while I sit next to you."

From her large leather bag that she had left lying on the kitchen table, Claire produced her HP Notebook laptop. It was a beaten and battered 2005 model, with various stickers in Serbian and English plastered across its cover. The screen was somewhat greasy, due to it being left in the proximity of countless creations of Serbian cuisine. One would not normally expect grilling to produce that much grease, but over time, even that could prove to be fatal, as it had done to Claire's aging laptop.

"So what did they make you do?" James said, once Claire had nestled herself next to him. She was small- only five feet, actually- and though she was skinny, blond, and blue-eyed like the stereotype of eastern European women, there was something about his wife that bespoke humility about her, even though she was superbly beautiful. She was mildly vain about her appearance, but not extremely so, like some of her friends.

"What _are_ you thinking about, dear?" Claire said, computer on her bare lap. She was wearing a pink satin negligee, which left everything from the waist down bare, revealing her extremely good-looking legs, which were almost as pale as ivory. Her legs were crossed in a lotus position, so that it looked like Claire was meditating on the couch. It would have been that, too, had it not been for the fact that her eyes were open, and that there was a computer nestled on her lap.

With a grunt he shook his head. Sometimes James despised himself for thinking of his wife in almost purely physical terms; it was the mind that ultimately made the person, not their appearance, although a good-looking body did amount to much. That was the one thing he hated about purely sexual relationships; it did not say much about personality, only the lust that two people had for each other. Not like a full relationship, with all the romance and sex involved.

"Well, I was going to say the same thing, Claire," he responded, "Or should I say, _Karina_?"

Claire laughed. "You know as well as I do that you prefer to call me by my _English_ name. Like you used to say, 'you should not touch upon pasts long gone.'"

"Right, of course. But the name _Karina Marković_ does have a certain flair to it, don't you think?"

"You only say that because I'm your lawfully wedded partner. Had I been any other person, you would have turned your head in typical American nationalist disgust."

He brushed the somewhat scathing comment aside. "So, _Claire_ , what are you working on?"

She crossed her arms underneath her breasts again. "What do you expect? I have a job that produces a fine salary of seventy thousand a year-"

"Seventy thousand? Please, Claire, that's chicken feed."

He had not the heart to tell Claire that he often only gleaned ninety thousand from his firm a year. Once, last year he had produced a fine sum of two hundred thousand, which had allowed him, with loans of course, to finance the construction of their modernist house, which Claire had designed.

"Anyway, I have to design something," his wife said as she opened the laptop and maneuvered her way through a series of complex passwords and a continuous tirade of applications opening and closing. When he peered over her shoulder she took the laptop away from his line of sight.

"This is a firm secret, James," Claire said in a condescending tone, pouting at him. "No one outside can know about this."

"Firm secret? Hah! I doubt it."

Claire looked at him with a grim expression. Her lips were arraigned in a flat line, and she looked at him, her large blue eyes seeming to grow with each second.

"Fine! But I shall not tell you _everything_ about what I'm doing. You wouldn't get it anyway."

"Oh really? I'm a lawyer who dabbles in pretty much everything. Architecture law doesn't seem too bad."

" _Oh really_?" replied Claire. "Architecture law- isn't that just something to defend architects if their clients sue them? Pssh. That's civil law for you, James."

"And what would you know about civil law?"

"Only that you don't practice it," said Claire, and she smirked at him. "You claim to be a criminal lawyer, right?"

" _Claim_? Oh, Claire, I _am_ a criminal lawyer. So anyway, what are you designing?"

Claire looked at him again for what seemed like the fiftieth time, and she sighed. "Fine. A Trump Tower."

" _A Trump Tower_?" James looked at his wife in disbelief. "You mean... "

"No!" said Claire. "Donald Trump didn't just walk into the office and demand a building design. One of his many, many employees did. Said Mr. Trump wanted 'diversity' with his building designs and that he wanted to see what a 'local' firm did. He added that the great New York firms were good, but of course he wanted some… some _diversity,_ if there is such a concept in architecture. You know, most architecture today is just a regurgitation of what the ancient builders of the sixteenth century were building."

"Hasn't the man been married thrice?" James said, swinging an arm around his wife. Claire looked at him with some interest, but in moments her head fell back to her work, sketching strange things on the computer. All kinds of geometric shapes and lines were etched across the computer's screen, and with the drag of Claire's mouse, the lines changed and raced back and forth to follow the commands of the mouse.

"Yes, he has. To European women, mostly. Ivana Trump, his first wife, and then Melania, his current spouse. I _personally_ think that the man has a closet attraction for those...those... uh.. like..."

"You basically meant to say eastern European women. Sure." James said, and he nestled his head on Claire's small shoulder. "So how's the Trump Tower going along?"

Claire groaned at him. "Badly! My entire firm thinks that building a Trump Tower will somehow increase our prestige. It will, I'm sure. But the man himself is something that I have a personal concern for. I don't want to build a tower for such a questionable man."

"Questionable? He's rich, has his own TV show, and has been featured prominently on _Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous_. What's so bad about him?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Just because you're rich doesn't mean you're infallible to all crimes. The man is… well… he's Trump."

James could see this conversation heading down a deadlier turn, so he decided to change the subject. A more pleasurable and relaxing subject than the one concerning Donald Trump's certain misbehaviors.

"Claire, dear… would you like to, ah…."

He inched his hand slowly across her chest. Slowly, of course, but he still was able to fondle her breast slowly and thoroughly while doing so.

Claire looked at him with a quivering lip, and the brash confidence that had been so evident on her face was gone. There was lust, of course, aroused by physical pleasure, but lust was merely a small feature of the emotions that were on her face. Rather, it seemed as if she was fearful of him. Which, in this case, seemed rather plausible.

"I… I have no time… to… go… to bed… with you, James," Claire forced out in a bitter tone.

"That act does not have to be performed exclusively in the bedroom, dear," he said, inching ever so closer to his wife as he did so. He stroked a strand of her hair with his other hand, too, for good measure.

"Hmph!" Claire said, crossing her arms underneath her breasts again, brushing off his groping hand, as well. "Don't you dare, James! Don't you dare make your advances on me, not while I'm working on my proj-"

In response, James leaned across his wife and kissed her; his hands groping her breasts and hips as he did so. Claire responded, reluctant at first, but then after about ten second she responded enthusiastically, and he felt her hands roving and grasping his back. James pushed his wife on her back, and she chuckled softly as she placed her laptop gently on the ground.

"I never cease to be seduced by you, James," Claire said, tossing back a strand of her hair, "despite the situation at hand."

James smiled, a grin stretching across his face. "Of course. I guess that is one of my more… ah.. _redeeming_ qualities."

"Redeeming? Hah! I doubt it. There is nothing _redeeming_ about you," Claire said, laughing. As she did so, she began playing with the buttons of her negligee. One came undone, then two.

"You really did take my cue, eh?" James chuckled, shrugging at his suit to reveal the white dress shirt underneath.

"Yes… I did," his wife said. The third button came undone, exposing the beginnings of her small but perfect breasts. Or at least, perfect to him.

"Well, then, as people in movies say… ah… _let_ 's _have some fun_."

This _fun_ was duly interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

James groaned in disgust. "Go home, Willis!" he called.

Underneath him, Claire giggled. "You really think it's him?"

"Why not? The idiot has done stuff like this before. Let's ignore him."

He leaned down again and kissed Claire, cupping her cheeks with his hands, as she began to unbutton the last of the buttons on her negligee. With an almost fluid motion she tossed it off, and began to worry his belt vigorously, pulling that off in a matter of seconds.

"Well, aren't you feisty?" he said, smiling with pride. Though she was thirty, which was quite a ripe and experienced age, Claire was quite a bit late to the party, and James always was happy to help his wife make up for lost time.

Someone- probably Willis, like he had theorized earlier- pounded on the door again, harder this time. It sounded almost as if the person who was knocking on his door was knocking with an intent to blow down the damned thing with his- or her- fist rapping on the door.

"Occupied!" he yelled down the hallway. He promptly realized that he could see whoever was knocking on the door from the large, bulletproof Plexiglas windows that framed the large living room that he and Claire were currently in.

James got up and parted the curtains, his eyes roving around the driveway, looking for whoever was knocking so crazily on the door.

Then he found them.

Yes, _them_. Not one. And it was certainly not Willis Japhon with a bunch of his idiotic comrades.

The knockers were a trio of suit-clad men with sunglasses. The lead man knocked on his door again, and looked around. Behind them a man clad in what looked like SWAT gear stood, a baton in hand. The SWAT man stared impassively at the door.

"Shit," James said, putting a hand to his brow. He could feel sweat beginning to collect on his forehead, and he turned back to see Claire with her hands on her now recently-reclothed hips.

"What's going on?" Claire asked, looking at him with one blond eyebrow raised questioningly.

"I don't even know," James replied, closing the curtain. He began to walk towards the bathroom, ignoring Claire's cries of protest. Turning the door, he locked it, and looked around. There was a detachable medicine cabinet which doubled as Claire's mirror, and he unlatched it from the wall and set it against the door. He then grasped random objects from around the bathroom and placed them at the foot of the door. James doubted they would do much, but every little bit helped.

Whatever they were, those men were not getting him. Not without a fight.

He suddenly considered the fact that Claire was out there, slightly confused and slightly angered. When those men came in swinging, Claire was sure to be caught in the crossfire.

He really wanted to say _oh well_ , but then that was his _wife_ out there. His lawfully wedded partner, his lover, his _wife_ was out there.

But then they were most likely after him, not her. They looked like government operatives, anyway. Government operatives usually only went for those that they were looking for. And he was damned well sure that Claire was not on their hit list.

He just hoped that she wouldn't try to resist when they came in.

James sat down by the far end of the bathroom, and put his head in his hands. Whatever had he done to deserve this? He had never committed any felonies, or misdemeanors for bloody Pete's sake. And he had never engaged in any corrupt services as well. An audit? The government would never send agents for an audit.

Confusing as hell, that was what this whole affair was.

* * *

Outside James Bradley's door, three FBI agents and a SWAT officer stood, waiting.

There was no response from the residence of James Bradley.

There had been some brief movement from the large block on the left side of the modernist house, but otherwise, there had been silence.

"Sir," said the second FBI agent, looking around, "do you think we should bust in?"

"Not yet," said the leader, checking his watch. "Give the man a minute. I'm pretty sure that was him at the curtains a few minutes ago."

A minute passed, and James Bradley did not make an appearance.

The FBI agent nodded to the SWAT officer, who then motioned with his hand for the FBI agents to move aside. The agents complied promptly, forming a kind of rudimentary honor guard as the SWAT officer walked up to the door. The SWAT officer knocked once.

No response.

The SWAT officer made another knock on the door, louder and harder the second time.

No response.

The SWAT officer sighed. He aimed a kick at the door. The door shook, but held.

Another hard kick to the door caused the thing to fall down with a tremendous crash. It leaned onto the wall briefly before falling down permanently onto the ground.

Satisfied with their work, the FBI agents and the SWAT officer leveled their pistols into the air and plunged into the cool darkness that filled the interior of James Bradley's house.

* * *

When the door came down, Claire uttered an involuntary shriek. The sound was loud, echoing through the silent house. Soon after that the clacking sounds of dress shoes smacking the wooden floor filled the air.

Claire had always been lectured by her parents on many things, including home invasion. Drop and give up all your possessions, they said. Make yourself seem submissive, they had said. Of course, that carried the chance of rape, if said home invaders were in the mood that night, but it usually worked the way it was intended to.

Of course, she did not expect to be treated rather courteously by the invaders.

With the exception of a military-looking type standing in the rear and looking around the living room, they were all men in suits and earpieces. The lead man was a man around James' age, with a ruddy complexion and brown hair. As Claire watched, he lowered his pistol into his pocket and smiled coldly at her.

"You are Claire Bradley, otherwise known as Karina Marković, spouse of James Bradley, yes?" the man said.

"Yes… yes I am…" Claire responded slowly, buttoning up the rest of her negligee as she did so.

The man fumbled around in his pants pocket before he finally produced a wallet. He stuck it in her face, and it fell open. The top section of the wallet, which the man held with his hands, showed his name written in barely legible cursive. But Claire didn't need to know that. Her eyes were plastered on the big blue _Department of Investigation_ and the even bigger _FBI_ underneath that.

"You're from the... uh... FBI?" Claire said slowly. She had heard it was very, very advantageous to treat agents of the government with respect. Yet those who had recommended such a course of action had obviously never seen such an agent in action. The very thought that the person standing in front of her was authorized to do whatever it took frightened her, and the best she could manage was a half-frightened stutter.

"Yes, Ma'am," the FBI agent- the name on the wallet was 'Edgar Smith'- said. "Is your husband in the house?"

"Well... yes..." she said, backing away slowly, "but I don't think-"

"Ma'am," said Agent Smith, "your husband's presence is required at Washington, and I think it would suit you to know that detainment of the will of the Department of Investigation is a crime against the government. More specifically, obstruction of justice."

"Did... James... commit any crimes?" Claire asked slowly. Yes. That was the tone. It was always good to speak slowly when addressing a federal agent.

"I am not required to disclose that information," said the agent. "What we do require is your husband. Do you happen to know where exactly he is in your residence, Ma'am?"

"Well, my husband... is currently... ah-"

"Ma'am," said the second agent behind Smith, "must we acquaint you with the punishment evoked by obstruction of justice?"

"Must I really tell you?" Claire said. Though these men were federal agents- or at least they claimed to be- James was her _husband_. In no way would she allow him to come to harm, even if it might harm her. He would do the same for her. They would do that for each other, federal agents or no.

"Yes, you must," said the third agent, who was leaning on the back of the couch, "or we'll search the entire house for your husband. And when we do, you're going to be indicted for obstruction of justice, which carries a sentence of twenty years, max. So, _Ma'am_ , I strongly advise that you cooperate with us in our search."

Claire really wanted to punch the agent, but then the rational part of her mind stalled her. The man could probably twist her arm behind her back and then restrain her on the couch while his companions searched the house for James. _Not a good idea_ , she concluded.

"I give up, then," said Claire, with a sense of overwhelming finality. "He's in the bathroom. Shall I accompany you there, to persuade him to come out?"

"Certainly," said Smith. "Lead the way, please, Ma'am."

Claire sighed. She walked down the hallway, painfully aware of the loud sounds that the FBI agents' were making against the wooden floor. Soon she stopped in front of the bathroom door. Light could be seen from underneath the door, which obviously marked James' presence. The light was darker, somehow, though, which indicated that James had probably put something against the door- probably the detachable medicine cabinet. Thank God she had not put any of her cosmetics or anything else valuable in there. Anything in there would've probably been damaged when he had taken it down, and would probably be destroyed when the agents decided to bust through James' makeshift barricade.

She put her head against the door in what she supposed was an attempt to convey her words more effectively through the door.

"James, dear?"

"Go away!" said the bellicose voice of her husband. Then- "Wait. Claire?"

"Yes, James." Claire sighed, and continued. "Listen, well... the FBI is here. They want you in Washington D.C., and I think you should come out of there."

James replied with an adamant "NO!", which shocked She then heard shifting noises from within the bathroom, and she supposed that he was arming himself to prepare for a possible onslaught.

Claire looked back at the FBI agents. "Do you want me to try again?" she whispered to Smith.

Smith nodded curtly.

Claire turned her head back to the door. "The FBI really does want you to come out peacefully, you know? So-"

"I'm not coming out of here," James yelled back, "and if the FBI wants me, well, they're going to have to go get me themselves!"

She turned to Smith. "You really don't have to do this," she said, trying to dissuade the man. As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew it was a feeble attempt to get someone's attention, especially a federal agent's. But Claire tried anyway.

Unfortunately, it didn't work. Smith looked at her, his mouth set in a grim line. "You sure he won't come out?"

At that line, something snapped in Claire. Was it courage? Was it love? Whatever it was, it drove her to rise from the floor, and stare at the agent who towered at least a full foot above her. She glared at him with the all the force she could muster, and she hoped that she was To add to the effect, she clenched her fists together by her legs.

"You are not harming him, you hear?" Claire said, and the courageous, speech-like sentence she had yearned to say came out as a timid squeak. But she pressed on, despite the circumstances at hand. "You are not harming my husband! I don't care where your orders came from, whether they came from the Oval Office or some fool at Langley! You are not getting at him! Not now, not ever! In fact, I wholly regret cooperating with you!"

The agent seemed remarkably calm as he nodded to the SWAT officer. Then turning his head back to Claire, he sighed. "Ma'am, please step aside."

"No!" Claire shrieked. "I won't! In fact, get out of my house! GET OUT!"

Smith sighed again. "Ma'am, please step aside. I mean it this time."

Rage filled Claire, and she clenched her fists even harder this time. "GET OUT!" she shrieked one more time as she leapt at the FBI agent, ready to deal as much damage as she could to him. She didn't care that he was a federal agent- the instinct to protect her husband was overpowering, and she let it flow through her as she literally _jumped_ on the FBI agent.

Reality, however, manifested itself soon to her. As she jumped at him, pain washed over the left side of her face, and Claire was thrown to the ground. As she looked at the agent to see what had caused her that pain, she saw that his hand was outstretched in what had been a slap. As Claire watched, he kicked her hard in the ribs, forcing a groan of pain from her lips, before he twisted her arm behind her back and forced her upwards, wrapping his arm around her chest, which served the added purpose of restraining her other arm, and inevitably, her as well.

"You didn't have to do this, Ma'am," said Smith. He nodded to the SWAT officer again. "Bust the door down and get Bradley out."

"NO!" Claire shrieked, and she stomped her foot as hard as she could on the man's shoe. He didn't even flinch. "Ma'am," said the agent again, "please stop squirming."

"NO!" Claire yelled again, and she moved to stomp on that foot again. She stopped when Smith smashed into her ribs again, hard, and she fell limp. "No," she moaned mutely as the pain washed through her body.

The SWAT officer moved in front of the door, and stepped back momentarily. "James Bradley, you have one chance, and one chance only, to get out of your bathroom and come peacefully!" the SWAT officer called in a rough voice.

From the bathroom came James' crude reply- "Damn you, you bastards!"

The SWAT officer looked back at Smith, who nodded.

Claire watched on with horror as the SWAT officer got up against the wall. As she looked on, the man literally bounded across the narrow space, armored elbow arranged menacingly in front of him.

The door came down with a devastating crash, leaning into the bathroom. Amazingly Claire heard no screams of pain. Then a swift movement of blue- James' suit, she realized, and then she briefly saw the body of her husband collide with the SWAT officer's. She saw James plunge something into his opponent's shoulder, saw the man grunt in surprise- or pain, she could not tell. For a few seconds there was an exchange of furious blows; she heard the muted thuds of James' fists upon the SWAT officer's vest, and the somewhat louder sounds of impact that the SWAT officer's blows made upon James' unarmored form.

Then the SWAT officer's fist connected with James' temple, and he collapsed to the ground in a limp heap.

"Oh my gosh," said Claire, her mouth forced open by dread, "why?"

The SWAT officer turned to her, and sticking out from his shoulder was a pair of shaving scissors. He chuckled as he removed the scissors from his shoulder and tossed them back into the bathroom, where they landed on the floor. "Ma'am, your husband can fight. He should be a SWAT officer."

Then he slung James over his shoulder like a bag of war spoils, and began walking away.

"You can't just take him like that!" Claire said. "Let me go, darn it! Let me go!"

To his surprise, Smith let her go. He released her, and she fell to the ground. The agent regarded her with a stern face, and smiled after about five seconds.

"Ma'am," said Smith, adjusting his earpiece, "we thank you for your c _ooperation_."

He walked down the hallway, before turning around at the very end.

"And, Ma'am, the Bureau isn't headquartered at Langley. It's in Washington."

By the time Claire managed to find her wits, get up, and attempt to give chase to the agents, they were gone. The door was broken down, and had been left that way. Some tire treads in the driveway were all that were left to show that the FBI had been here.

As Claire sat down in the cold night air by the steps of her home, phone in hand, calling what relatives that were available to help fix her door, she could only hope that James survived whatever the people in Washington had in mind for him. The American government was not always the most forgiving when it came to resisting its directives.

A cold night breeze blew through the air, causing Claire to shiver violently, and she went back inside, sidestepping the remains of the door and a broken vase as she went.

* * *

The first thing that James Bradley saw upon waking up was a whole lot of _stripes._ His head throbbed intensely, and with each second the pounding seemed to get worse.

James turned himself around and realized he was lying on a beige couch striped with red. His entire body was splayed across the couch, with his shoes hanging off the edge. His face had been, until recently, planted into the seat of the couch, and he spat. Who knew how many people had sat and passed gas on that seat?

He turned, and found himself staring directly into the face of the SWAT officer.

James yelped and leapt up, coming back down with a grunt when he saw the SWAT officer's stern _get-back-down-on-earth_ expression.

He looked around, and gasped. The time he had used to jump up and sit back down had given him a momentary view of the room he was currently in, and James gasped when he realized where exactly he had been transported to.

The room he was in was washed with white, with a portrait of Abraham Lincoln to the very back of the oval-shaped room. Bookcases, neatly organized, stood around the room's walls, with random objects placed in between them as rudimentary book dividers. To the left of one bookcase was a portrait of George Washington, resplendent in his victory over the British. James smiled briefly, but then his gaze turned to the front of the room, and his smile was wiped off his face in an instant, replaced by a deep and bitter frown.

"You sonofabitch," James growled, when he realized who had given the order to bring him to Washington, to this very room. "You fucking SONOFABITCH!"

The SWAT officer looked down at him. "Excuse me? Need I remind you who you're talking to?"

"No," said the person sitting at the front of the room. "Leave him be. In fact, leave, now. This is between the two of us."

The SWAT officer stiffened and saluted before turning to leave the room.

In front of him, the chair that had been turned swiveled backwards, revealing a somewhat gaunt-looking man with salt and pepper hair. His was a face that James instantly recognized, for James knew him, and so did three-hundred-and-sixty-million-something Americans.

For this man was the President of the United States of America, and he was also his brother.

"Jeffrey," said James as a way of greeting.

Jeffrey's fingers were steepled underneath his chin, as if he was thinking about something great- he probably was. As the Commander in Chief, Jeffrey was responsible for perhaps everything- he was the leader of America, after all, and whoever led America led the entire Western world.

"Shut it, brother. Might I ask that it was you who attacked the agents that I sent after you? I simply needed you in Washington, and yet... you _assaulted_ them. I shouldn't be surprised."

"If I-"

" _Shut it, James._ "

Even before becoming President, Jeffrey had always had that effect around him- he could cause people to shut up with a forceful tone, and becoming President merely accentuated that quality. Thus, James shut his mouth promptly.

He did not know what Jeffrey had in store for him, but he guessed it would be extremely unpleasant. After all, to come face-to-face with the President simply for an assignation of a task merited extreme importance, and ultimately extreme unpleasantness.

"So what do you have in mind, Jeffrey?"

"I said, shut it. Shut it while I think, you _sonofoabitch_."

James smiled to himself, and he leaned back on the couch, awaiting his brother's directives.

* * *

Behind the Resolute Desk, Jeffrey Bradley, forty-fourth President of the United States, sighed in a mixture of disgust and exasperation. His brother had not changed a single bit since that time at the DNC. The President had dared to hope that his brother would change, but here he was, still slinging insults and acting like the self-absorbed bastard he was. If Jeffrey wasn't President, they would have already been trading blows.

But he was Commander-in-Chief, so he had to try the _civil_ approach.

Jeffrey Bradley swung the chair around again, and began to explain just exactly why he had James dragged from his Yonkers abode to Washington.

And he could tell that James wasn't liking one bit of it.

* * *

 _Author's Note: I do not support Donald Trump in any way ( aside from having Claire insult his wife-mongering. ). I thank those of you who have read, or reviewed, followed, or favorited this story- any one of the four, actually. Have a good time finding good fanfictions!_


	4. The President's Exposition

Under normal circumstances, any normal American might have been scared to kingdom come for being assaulted by FBI agents and deposited in the Oval Office.

But not James Bradley.

Instead, he was downright pissed at what had been done to him.

"Jeffrey," said James, cracking his knuckles, "what the hell? You damned near scared the shit out of me and Claire with your FBI-"

"They're not _my_ FBI," said Jeffrey dismissively, waving a hand towards James' direction. "I sent them, but that doesn't meant that I _own_ them. As President, I don't _own_ the United States. I merely… _watch over_ our nation."

"Yeah, right. And the NSA keeps tabs on everyone, doesn't it?"

" _Shut up_ ," Jeffrey snarled. He even slapped the Resolute Desk, and the sound echoed throughout the Oval Office. Like he had done earlier, James shut up.

"You didn't think I'd call you here for something trivial, didn't you? Whenever will it get into that stupid mind of yours to actually heed your government's calls? I actually have something important for you to do, something that could change the fate of the entire world-"

"You said the same thing with Obamacare. And look what Obamacare did to the economy-"

"We're not discussing that right now," Jeffrey snarled again. Then he added, "What Senator Obama championed- is still championing, in fact, was _good_ for America. You don't know, because you're blissfully ignorant of what goes down in Washington. Now shut your mouth and let me talk."

James crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back onto the couch. "I'm all ears," James said sarcastically.

"Good," Jeffrey muttered. But that was all Jeffrey said, because his brother then proceeded to start writing on a paper on his desk. He wrote furiously and fast, too, as well, so that it almost looked like Jeffrey was scribbling all over the paper. But Presidents never scribbled all over their papers. He was certain that Jeffrey was writing an executive order, or maybe an important memo for his minions- Biden, Clinton, or maybe Panetta, the Secretary of Defense.

"What the hell?" James said, disgusted. "Did you drag me to Washington just to have me watch you write papers?"

"For the last time, James, _sit down and shut up_. And while you're at it, think about what brought you and I on such terrible terms. In fact, I'm issuing an unofficial order here- think about it, James! Think about why you and I have such a terrible relationship, and then we'll talk."

Condemned by his brother's order, James looked at the portrait of George Washington, and sighed. Jeffrey was forty-eight- sixteen years older than James had been, and at least twenty years older than his younger brother Joshua. Despite his seniority, despite his evident fame, there was only one thing that he could say about Jeffrey- neglect of the highest kind. He had never been there for James when he was younger, and all this had exploded in his face at a somewhat recent event, the one to which Jeffrey had been talking about...

* * *

 **2008 Democratic National Convention**

James Bradley sat behind the stage, holding his girlfriend Claire's hand, and listening to the roars of applause from the crowd in front of the stage.

He shook his head in disgust, and recalled the events that had led to him sitting in a stage behind the Democratic convention stage.

His brother Jeffrey had decided to run for President. Initially he had been just one of many candidates in a pool that also hosted Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, John Edwards, and others. Initially Jeffrey had done terribly in the Iowa Caucus, but the following New Hampshire primary was bulldozed by Jeffrey. He had watched in horror as his brother had begun to win the primaries, sometimes narrowly, sometimes by a wide margin, and he had watched in horror as the Democratic candidates began to drop out one by one. He watched Hillary Clinton fall, and he watched Barack Obama, who had been gaining a damned good lead, collapse as well, withholding his delegates before finally releasing them to Jeffrey. All this led to his brother accepting the Democratic nomination and subsequently becoming the Democratic Party's nominee for President.

Claire supported Jeffrey for his relaxed stance towards foreign powers, especially her native Serbia, and James had looked at her with disgust. He had told her about Jeffrey's numerous truancies during his childhood, and argued that this would show that Jeffrey would be a horrible President. But she had merely pecked him on the cheek, and said that she "believed in his brother."

Rubbish.

And yet here he was, behind the stage, listening to Jeffrey Bradley formally nominate Joe Biden for Vice President on the Democratic ticket.

Joshua had already given his speech- it was a short ten-minute one, as he had to "rush back to Wall Street", as he said, before formally introducing Jeffrey. Strangely enough, the Democrats had planned it so that James would give his speech _after_ Jeffrey had given his speech and nominated Biden for Vice President.

He voiced his concerns to Claire, who was looking over the slightly longer speech that the Democrats had prepared for him.

"Don't you think it's strange that I get to go after Jeffrey talks?"

Claire, who had been reading the speech, looked at him and smiled. "Well, James, think about it. Joshua already went and introduced your brother, so don't you think it would be strange if you went up and introduced him a second time? And besides, the delegates are- well, _were-_ itching to see their nominee."

"Are you suggesting I'm not important?" James said, looking at her in mock outrage.

"No," she said, abashed, "but the delegates think you are, though."

James laughed and hugged Claire. "You should be a delegate," he said, kissing her brow.

"No," said Claire, laughing too, "I wouldn't. Being a delegate would be somewhat tacky, with all the mail urging you to turn traitor for the other candidate."

In front of the stage, he heard his brother's booming baritone voice, magnified hundredfold by the large speakers situated on either end of the platform, call out:

"Would my brother, James Bradley, please step up and address the Democratic National Convention?"

"Well," said James, grimacing, "it's my time to shine."

He smiled at his girlfriend, and stood to leave. As he stood, she stood, too, and kissed him squarely on the lips, which surprised him. Claire was not one for these kinds of kisses, and she only gave them out on what she deemed to be "important" occasions. Judging from the taste of her cherry chapstick on his lips, this was one of those "important occasions".

"Go get them," Claire said, waving at him.

James ascended the stairs and came face-to-face with the assembled Democratic Party.

The Democratic delegates were seated in the arena, holding signs endorsing Jeffrey and Obama for President, and they were _wild_. The roars of the delegates were simply deafening, and he struggled to believe that there were representatives and mayors in that crowd of unruly fools. They were fools anyway. They were voting for an idiot who had never been there for him.

As he had requested, AC/DC's _Back in Black_ started blasting through the speakers as he took the podium. Jeffrey waved briefly to the delegates before leaving; he smiled once at James, who frowned back at him.

For a moment he remembered that he left the speech . Luckily Claire had folded the thing in his shirt pocket, and he took it out and placed the thing on the podium.

As Angus Young hit the high note on the ' _I got nine lives'_ lyric, James waved to the assembled delegates. _Back in Black_ shut off the moment he did so, which was somewhat annoying. He had half-expected the music to continue as he spoke, which, when he thought about it, didn't make sense. How could the delegates focus on what he had to say when _Back in Black_ was blasting through the stadium? And not just any song, too, but _Back in Black_! One of the most iconic songs in rock'n'roll's history, and sure to be recognized by any adult American. It certainly made sense to shut the song off.

"Today, something very important is happening in my family, or rather, what remains of it-" his father had passed away of a heart attack long ago, and his mother was ultra-depressive and refused to talk or appear much, "that will ultimately shake it for years to come. Today, my brother has become the Democratic nominee for the nation's most powerful job. It's a thing that will be talked about in the Bradley family for years to come."

The delegates broke out into polite applause. Yet in the large stadium the applause became somewhat deafening. He supposed that someone in his position would be reveling in the attention; the proverbial 'fifteen minutes of fame'. Yet he found himself somewhat despising it. Yes. The sense was growing by the second, like an unwanted boner. He found himself despising it intensely; yet still he spoke. The words of the script rolled off his tongue like water; he delivered them without hesitance or pause. It was only natural; after all, he had been obliged to practice for days on end with this dumb-ass speech that he was supposed to deliver on live television.

"This is an event that will make history," said James, "and if the polls hold, my brother will make it to the White House, where he shall become the forty-fourth president of the United States of America!"

At this the assembled crowd of delegates grew louder and noisier; some of them even stood as if they were lauding his speech. Which they probably were. What he was doing was giving a call to arms; a Democratic call to arms to take back the White House from the Republicans, who, under Bush, had ruined the economy and embroiled America in war and debt. Here, James was calling for everyone to believe in his brother, who would bring prosperity and wealth back to the country, to levels that had not been seen since the days of Bill Clinton.

And yet as he read the speech, he found himself hating the speech. Though he had spent endless hours staring at it, memorizing it, neglecting Claire because of it, he now found himself hating it as if he had never seen it before. It praised Jeffrey Bradley for who he was; a man from a poor background who had succeeded in life and had been elected three-term Representative of New York. It called him the "embodiment of the American dream", which James was loath to read, but he read it nonetheless.

But then there began a part talking about his childhood, and it called him a "man who had always been there for family."

Here, James begged to differ.

Jeffrey had never been there for him. Never. During his first eighteen years of life he had never even _seen_ his brother. His parents had only told him of 'Jeff'ry', who had gone from their humble farm in upstate New York to seek a life on Wall Street. He resented Jeffrey, for abandoning them in the state of abject poverty. He resented Jeffrey for _everything_.

The man had the audacity to show up for James' high school, college, and eventual law school graduations, which was a first. But he never stayed long, citing his duties as a Representative or some other role as an excuse. It was stupid and miserable, and James hated him. Even Claire could not console him from such a state.

And now here he was, running for President, and he was asking for James to forgive him?

He looked up on the VIP balcony, and saw, of all things, Jeffrey's glance. His brother was outright smiling at him, like a vulture ready to make a kill. It was like Jeffrey was egging him on with his speech, grinning his politician's smile. A crocodile smile, in fact.

Never!

And so James spoke.

"As a child..." James began to speak, reading off the script. It started to go off into ramblings about how Jeffrey always cared for his brothers. James chuckled softly, and then realized the sound had been broadcast to the entire convention. He didn't care. It was surprising, though, that they would expect Joshua and James to read their approval of Jeffrey, though he had never been there for any of them. Joshua had fallen- and they expected him to fall, too.

Well, fuck that.

"As a child," James repeated again, "Jeffrey was... well... never there. He was simply gone. Poof!"- he waved both his hands in a motion meaning to simulate an explosion, "and Joshua and I were forced to fend for ourselves. I did crack, drank, smoked, and did other questionable things. Joshua learned to read, write, and do arithmetic by himself. Our parents never cared, because they were too busy trying to make a living. Despite my daredevil activities, I still made it clear to Joshua that we both had to do well in our studies. Had it not been for _me_ , well, Joshua and I would not be on this stage today."

The delegates, who had been silent, stayed silent. Above in the box, Jeffrey's smile turned into a frown. James watched Joe Biden glare at Jeffrey with confusion and distrust, watched all of Jeffrey's political aides look at him with bemusement.

"Yep," said James, "let's have it for Jeffrey Bradley, the Presidential nominee who was never there for his _own family_!"

By now silence had infected the National Convention, so that the only sound was his voice, echoing through the Pepsi Stadium.

"So," said James, "what do you, the American people, have to make out of this?" He looked towards the cameras which were undoubtedly broadcasting this live to America. "Look at him! Jeffrey Bradley. He may seem like a suave sweet-talker who will fix our nation, but why throw a man in the Oval Office who can't even care for his _own family_?! He never once helped us out! Not even when he was a Representative! And yes, I know that political figures aren't supposed to help their family, but at least from the goodness of their heart? Nope! He could have at least found Mother and Father a better home and sold the farm. Nope! Father died of a heart attack, and Mother's still there today, rotting away in bed! All because of that man sitting on the balcony! Damn you, Jeffrey, and damn the Democratic Party! I'm voting for McCain!"

At this the Convention transformed into an uproar; security guards charged him, but he weaved around them and dashed backstage, where he was treated to Claire's stormy face.

"You never told me that," she said, breaking into a run. "You never told me Jeffrey-"

"Yeah, that's not important. We have to get out of here before the Democrats kill me for that stunt I pulled."

" _Damn right_ ," said Claire. When he looked at her in shock, she smiled. "Isn't that something you would say?"

"Well, yeah," he said, throwing open the driver's door of his Buick Roadmaster, "but I'd never expect you to say that."

The security guards tossed the exit doors open, and he saw their leader point at his exiting Roadmaster. But unless they pursued him, there was no way they were catching up with him.

"So long, suckers!" he yelled, and Claire giggled. Although he was sure the guards couldn't hear him, it still counted as a victory.

"One thing is for sure, though, James," said Claire. "You won't be allowed near any political conventions in the next, say, ah... fifteen years?"

"Damn right," James said, and kissed her. She responded enthusiastically, before pushing him away. "Keep your eyes on the road, James. I don't want to flip over just because we're kissing."

"Of course," said James, and he drove on. He was rather certain that McCain would attempt to seize the opportunity and capitalize on it. _Who knows_? he thought. _Maybe the Republicans will keep the White House after all._

The Buick drove on into the cold Denver night.

* * *

Unfortunately Jeffrey had won the election after all, although by a very close margin. After his impromptu speech, about a third of Jeffrey's voters had cast their lot behind Senator McCain. Despite that added bulk, it was still not enough. It ended up producing an election rather like the one in 2000. Jeffrey won Florida, among other states, by a very narrow margin, and that, combined with the populous Democratic states, was enough to land him the victory. Yet during Election Day McCain had actually managed to gain a lead on Jeffrey twice, but it had ultimately ended in bitter failure. Jeffrey had given the acceptance speech soon after, with a rather gracious nod towards James with the lines, "and I hope that dissatisfied Americans, like my brother James for instance, will be willing to work together with us to make a new and better America." It was a very, very, thinly veiled insult towards him, and James hated it.

"So," said Jeffrey, looking at him, "have you thought about it?"

"Yes," said James, "yes, I have. And I must say you look different."

"Well," the President replied, smiling briefly, "nearly four years of being President does that to you."

"Yeah," said James, "it does." He was running out of small talk to talk about.

"So," said Jeffrey again, steepling his fingers underneath his chin, making him seem even more like some kind of movie villain. "I believe you want to know why I called you here."

"Yes, I do." Strangely, he found himself speaking with respect- nothing like the angry tones that he imagined he would be ranting at Jeffrey with. "So tell me, _POTUS_ , what's up?"

Jeffrey's face hardened. "God, I _hate_ that label. Not to mention that my official Twitter account is also labeled POTUS."

"You do know that POTUS stands for-"

"Yes, I know!" Jeffrey snapped. Then he added, "It still sounds stupid, though."

James sighed. "So is that all? You called me here to patch things up? Well, if you did, it's not working. You may be family, but you're the worst family that I've ever seen."

"Close. Close, but not even."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Well, the reason I called you here has to do with something important. Something that's classified as top-secret, actually. But of course the FBI cleared the topic for discussion with you. Now, what I'm about to tell you- don't tell another living soul, hear? Even if Joe walks into the room, don't tell him- though he already knows. He and I were the first to know, actually, outside of Langley and the FBI, of course."

"Spit it out, Jeffrey. Stop talking like a-"

"I'm just saying," Jeffrey said, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm just saying."

"So say it," said James. He crossed his legs and began tapping his right, which was firmly planted on the Presidential rug. "Come on, I'm waiting."

Jeffrey took a deep breath. He looked around, and breathed again. Then, he looked at James with what seemed to be a thousand-yard stare, as if the President could stare right into the windows of one's soul.

For a second there was silence. Complete and utter silence.

"Angels. Fallen angels. Demons. All that? It's real."

For a second James could not register what Jeffrey was saying. It seemed to him as if his brother was spouting absolute nonsense.

"Say that again, Jeff. Say it again, slowly."

Jeffrey rolled his eyes. Then, "Angels. Fallen angels. Demons. Heaven. Hell. It's all real, brother."

"Shit," said James. "You mean... the Pearly Gates, and the aforementioned Gates of Hell and all that-"

"Well," said Jeff, clutching a large beige folder, "if intel's correct, Hell ain't as deadly as it's made out to be. It's apparently the home of demons, and contrary to popular belief, they _don't_ torture sinners on sight."

"And you know this _how?_ "

Jeffrey sighed. "It's called _intel_ for a reason, James. Intelligence, collected by the FBI, CIA, NSA, every single damn one of them. Not to mention collaboration with the Europeans, the Russians, the Chinese, even the damned Arabs, of all people. The _Global Supernatural Action Committee_ is its name. It's a global pool of whatever supernatural knowledge we could dredge up."

"Okay," said James. He was still trying to comprehend the existence of the supernatural, and he found that he couldn't. It was simply a concept too alien to him. He decided to press ahead with the news that Jeffrey had- if he was allowed to divulge them, of course.

"You gotta understand that this is something that was just discovered two weeks ago, when the Japanese first-"

"Wait, _what_ about the Japanese?"

Jeffrey sighed in exasperation. "Sometimes I gotta remember that you're not part of our government. Anyway, the Japanese knew before anyone else did, and late last week they carried out the first-ever assault on a demon hole."

"What... the... hell... is _a demon hole_?"

"GSAC term for a place rife with demons. Anyway there were only eight of 'em, and two of them actually turned out to be humans. With magical swords."

" _Magical_... _swords_?"

"Yeah. One of them tore a hole in the ground that damaged six tanks."

The concept of such a thing was simply terrifying. "And you're telling me this because..."

"See, Tokyo has custody over them. And they're going to be tried under Japanese law. I'm pretty sure you're familiar with that, aren't you?"

"Yeah, somewhat." When Claire had forced him to study and learn Japanese, he had done some digging in Japanese law. How coincidental that the only other language that he could speak happened to belong to a country that had committed the first-ever attack against demonkind?

"See, this is where you come in, brother. You are going to go to Tokyo-"

"WHAT?" James stood up. Up until now he had been merely surprised about the turn of events. He was mildly surprised that angels, fallen angels, and demons existed, and that Heaven and Hell were actual places. He was also surprised that Hell simply seemed to be an underground Earth for demons, and he was definitely even more surprised to find out that the Russians, Chinese, Europeans, and America were cooperating to hunt down these creatures. But to send him off to Tokyo? First, why, and second, no, never! Absolutely not, in fact! He had a life here; he had clients like McKinley, and he certainly didn't appreciate the fact that FBI agents had dragged him out of his own home, to bring him to a brother who he didn't exactly like!

He relayed these concerns to Jeffrey, who merely chuckled. "Oh, but you must. I've already signed an executive order ordering you to go. And I've notified the Japanese government to keep you there. As long as you're needed, you can't leave the country."

Defeated, James sank back on the couch. "Fuck you, Jeff."

"You don't even know what you're going to be doing there," said Jeffrey, smiling. "You'll get to enjoy the sights of Tokyo, see the Imperial palace, all kinds of stuff! As Mary Poppins says, there's a fun side to every obstacle that you'll ever face. Plus, it's Japan, James. Think of all-"

"I don't need to know that right now," growled James, and he slammed his fist down on the table which was positioned in front of the couch. "What will I be doing in Tokyo?"

"Well, the Japanese are going to try the demons for war crimes. But unfortunately all their lawyers are committing suicide, because they don't want to go face to face with a demon. So Tokyo's going around the globe begging for foreign lawyers. Rainier and Landon have already accepted the role of prosecution, you know?"

James growled. Rainier and Landon was a large and prestigious Wall Street firm which specialized in working for overseas clients- the wealthy, the rich, and the famous. Arab royalty, Russian oligarchs, you name it- Rainier and Landon were buried waist-deep with those individuals. They sued, defended, and protected the assets of their wealthy clients, enriching themselves off their clients' obscenely rich fees. It was a firm that only accepted the best of the best- they only took the top graduates from Harvard, Yale, Columbia- in fact, any of the Ivy League schools. Willis could have made it into Rainier and Landon, as a matter of fact; he had seen Willis' transcript from Columbia Law, and his grades were outstanding. James supposed it was actually a waste of talent for Willis to descend into the murky depths of local law practice, instead of going into Big Law and making a fortune.

Every prospecting attorney had the dream of making it into Big Law, but only a select few ever got there. Nevertheless the few who did gave the rest even more hope, and so the profession of the law actually thrived. James supposed that for all his hate of Rainier and Landon and their ilk, they were actually responsible for the continued survival of the legal profession as a whole. After all, who didn't want to make one hundred seventy thousand a year as an associate?

Rainier and Landon was a firm that had shown itself time and time again to be extremely competent for what it did, and James actually felt himself having a bit of sympathy for the demons. If Rainier and Landon was going to prosecute them, then the Japanese government would get a surefire conviction in just a few months.

"So why are you telling me this?" said James, arching an eyebrow at his brother. "You're not just sending me to Japan just to observe this go down, aren't you?"

"No," said Jeffrey, a crocodile's smile coming over his face once more, "you will take a more… active role in the legal proceedings."

"And what might that be?" said James, already fearful of the inevitable answer.

Jeffrey sighed again. "Are you always afraid of what I have to tell you?" The President steepled his fingers underneath his chin and looked at James, the crocodile smile never once wavering from his face.

"I want you to defend the demons in the trial. You could win. You could lose. But at all costs, I need you in there, defending those demons."

James looked at his brother, and for a brief second he wondered if Jeffrey hadn't lost his wits.

He could not believe that his brother would make him do something so difficult. Embarking to other countries was a big deal, and Jeffrey, of all people, should have firsthand experience with the difficulties of such endeavors, even though Jeffrey had shown himself to be one of the least-traveled Presidents- he had only made twenty trips throughout the course of his term, with most of them being to Europe for conference with the leaders of the European Union. Yet twenty trips abroad was a big deal, especially if you were President. A motorcade of minions followed you, and the massive Air Force One carried you around the world as you struggled to promote the interests of the United States.

But maybe that was the reason why Jeffrey thought so. As President, everything was increased incredibly- more security, more staff, random reporters trying to get a word, _et al._ But maybe Jeffrey thought that a one-man band like him could make it easily without worry.

Which was why Jeffrey was wrong in that aspect.

"Jeff," said James, looking at his brother again, "do you know how much-"

Jeffrey said something that sounded like yip yip yip, which was apparently meant to silence him. He even waved his hand at James, and then spoke. "I don't care. James, you are going-"

"No!" James responded, angered. How dare Jeffrey order him around, President or not. How dare he think that as Commander-in-Chief he could move people around like pieces on a chessboard. If Jeffrey really did think that way, then, he, James, was certainly not his pawn.

"Executive order, James," said Jeffrey, shrugging. "I can't just take that thing back, now can I?"

"You're the goddamned President," snarled James, "so take it back!"

"No," said Jeffrey affirmatively. The President stood up, and for a second James caught a glimpse of his brother, the President- not his brother as a whole. A President needed to be a stately leader, example of his nation, and have a commanding presence. Now, it seemed as if those traits had been thrown in his face. James sat down and pursed his lips in thought, wondering if he could somehow worm his way out of his impending doom. Even as he thought them, he knew that they could never be. There simply was no way out of this.

"I know that Rainier and Landon is a powerful, difficult, and above all, competent firm. I know that the challenges that face you will be numerous and difficult. But, brother, I need you in there. I need you defending the demons. I need you in there fighting against Rainier and Landon. Trust me, you might get a Presidential Medal of Freedom for this."

"Why?" said James, and he looked at his brother. James was defeated, and he knew it.

"Without revealing too many national secrets, James, we, the United States Government, want to have stable and working relations with Perdition, or Hell, or whatever you want to call it. I trust you and your legal abilities to defend the demons to the best of your ability."

"But won't Rainier and Landon be seen as an American firm?" It was a question with merit, for Rainier and Landon drew the majority of its working force from America's greatest law schools.

"Despite its tradition in using an American workforce, Rainier and Landon is an international firm, not a purely American one. We will, of course, take some blame, but to see that America has one of its own citizens working tirelessly to defend Hell's subjects will most likely cause their leadership to see America in a somewhat favorable light. So says Hillary Clinton and Leon Panetta, who, you know, are the Secretaries of State and Defense, respectively. And frankly, I'm inclined to believe them on this. This is not another country we are dealing with- this is _Hell_ , with vast resources and countless magics at its disposal. This is a serious issue, James, and America needs to preserve its interests, whether it's abroad, or, in this case, across _dimensions_. Which is why you _need_ to go to Japan and represent the demons, _damn it_!"

"So when do I leave?" It seemed best to shut Jeffrey up and give him what he wanted. Normally James would have been all out for an argument, but it was late, and Jeffrey had the advantage anyway. Moreover, he had to reluctantly admit that Jeffrey was right. All his brother- and by extension, the entire federal government- wanted to do was to preserve America's well-being, and apparently, the idea of sending him to Japan had lodged itself in their thick heads.

"It's late, if you haven't noticed," he said to a deeply grimacing Jeffrey.

"Today," said Jeffrey, shrugging after a while. "There's a first-class seat ready for you at DCA."

"I'm pretty sure that DCA is strictly for business flights." This was not an attempt to stall; it was merely stating a fact. DCA was indeed only for business flights, and the only international flights allowed in were flights from airports already cleared by U.S. Customs and Border Protection services.

"Haven't you ever heard of a Presidential requisition? DCA is going to give you that flight, and plus, the Ambassador to Japan and his delegation are going there, too. You're all going on that flight."

"So this is it, then," said James. "No more normal life for the next year or so."

"James," said Jeffrey, "it's a matter of politics, too. As you've noticed, it's reelection year, and Mitt Romney is the Republican challenger to the White House. If I don't do something, _anything_ about this problem, and for some reason, Romney wins, he's going to be the President that handles the supernatural, not me. I'll be the laughingstock for not doing anything!"

"Then _win_ , brother," said James. "You have a good chance, anyway. Underneath your administration, America has recovered from the Great Recession, even if Obamacare sucks. Actually, if you think about it, many poor people are better off because of Obamacare. Now, we both know that you didn't pass Obamacare, but it happened in your administration. People are going to associate Obamacare with you, and you'll be all the better because of it."

"Really?" said Jeffrey. He sat down at the Resolute Desk again, and stared at James. "I've campaigned intensely and changed a few things about what I'm going do. The debates are looming, and with this whole demon thing on the line, I don't know what to say. Someone's going to leak this out sooner or later."

"Jeffrey," said James. "are you doing what I think you're doing?"

Jeffrey sighed. "I've had a good term, and I think I'm going to get another one soon enough. Though all my advisers, and the Cabinet, too, have assured me that I'm going to win, it's just.. well..."

He stopped for a minute, then continued: "Joshua stopped by the other day, and we talked for a bit. And he told me I'd win, and I actually felt better about it. His reassurance meant more to me than the half-truths of what my campaign managers and the like say. They're _paid_ to make me feel better about myself. But Joshua... well... I could tell he was being honest with me. He wanted me to retake the Presidency. And... well..."

"You want to say sorry to me," said James. "That's a first for a President."

"Well, that, and..." Jeffrey looked at him, and the eyes of the President bore the pained look that he expected them to- a man burdened with things of Biblical proportions. And now Biblical things were revealing their ugly faces to the world, burdening his brother even more.

"Look," said Jeffrey, "four years gives you a lot of time to stew on errors made in the past. Those four years have been hectic for me, but every job has its downtime. And in that downtime, what do you think I think about? I've got no wife or kids, and all these people leave me alone in the Oval Office when it's night, like now. So what do you think I think about?"

"If you're going to apologize for what you did, now's a good time. I'm going off to serve America's _best in-_ "

"Alright. I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sorry for all the suffering you and Joshua had to go through, and sorry for not helping out in times of trouble. You know, everything I did... I did for you, and Joshua, and Father and Mother. It may not seem that way, but it's true. I wanted to be President to make a better America for all of us to live in. And first and foremost, our family."

James heard the apology, and he desperately wanted to believe him. Jeffrey sounded sincere with his apology. It seemed only right that he forgive Jeffrey for what he had done.

But as he thought this, something in him began to coalesce. It was the gathering of hate, of fear and distrust. An apology was in order, of course, but an apology was simply a tiny Band-Aid on an injury- and Band-Aids did not alleviate injuries in the slightest. The pain, the fear, the distrust was still there, and an apology did nothing, nothing at all to soothe it. Though Jeffrey sounded sincere, it was something that was not to be taken lightly. Years of neglect and distrust had built on him, had formed part of who he was. For Jeffrey to apologize was to say that Jeffrey had been wrong for doing that- and indeed, he was. But what Jeffrey didn't realize was that some things had simply progressed too far to take back.

As James opened his mouth to speak, to rebuke Jeffrey for attempting to apologize, he saw that Jeffrey had in his hands an intricate wooden box.

"What's in the box?" James asked, his hate allayed for the moment.

"Father's revolver. He gave it to me when I left for Wall Street. All my life I've never used the damned thing, and... well.. I want you to have it."

James opened the box. Jeffrey was right- inside the box, resting in purple velvet, was a gleaming silver Smith and Wesson Model 625. It was a gun that his father had always talked about owning, talked about its shininess and its ability to guarantee a sure shot every time. But James had never seen the thing. He had accepted it as fact, but always he had doubted its existence. But now the revolver lay there, in front of him.

James gingerly picked up the Model 625 and looked at it. It was completely silver, and shiny, too, just as his father had described it. The handle was maple- bright red, too- just as his father had described it. In fact, he could identify the revolver simply from his father's repeated tales of it. He grasped the gun by the barrel and pocketed it.

"Careful, brother," said Jeffrey, "the thing is loaded."

"Loaded? With what?" Bullets, obviously, but James didn't see why Jeffrey would give him the gun, not when he was about to deal with supernaturals who obviously couldn't be killed with a good shot to the head.

"Well, there's another government secret that goes out the window." He shrugged, and continued. "In that gun are six bullets that are designed to kill supernaturals. Angels, fallen angels, demons? Good shot to the head will do."

"What?" James replied. He took out the revolver again, and sprung out the spinning chamber. There were indeed six bullets, and he took one out to look at it.

The bullet gleamed silver, and it was a wee bit heavier than normal. Strange markings were engraved on the bullet, along with what looked like to be at least five different Latin inscriptions.

"Factory-made," said Jeffrey, nodding.

"So you're saying we can just mass-produce magical demon-killing bullets," said James, lodging the bullet back in the chamber. Once more he put the gun into his pocket.

"Yes," said Jeffrey. "In fact, while these so-called 'holy bullets' are a bit more expensive than regular bullets, better safe than sorry, eh? You don't know when you're dealing with a demon burglar or a normal one. Actually, a bill will be presented before Congress next month concerning the usage of these bullets in police forces, the military, et cetera, et cetera. You get the gist, eh, James?"

"Yeah..." said James. What he wanted to do right now was take the gun and bury all six of these so-called 'holy bullets' in Jeffrey's chest. But he restrained himself.

"So that's that," said Jeffrey.

"Gee... umm.. thanks for Dad's revolver," said James, turning to leave. He felt the sudden urge to run, run out of the Oval Office and never come back. Which he was most likely going to do. But the destination had already been set by the United States Government- eventually, Japan. He could not run from an executive order, however stupid and foolish he was.

With a grunt he fished out his phone from his pocket. He was going to call Claire, and there was going to be a _lot_ of explaining to do.

* * *

 **Tokyo District Prison, Japan**

The wind came to life over the boiling clouds of the sea, carried inward by its own force. Inward it blew, flying through the bustling metropolis of Tokyo and startling many a casual pedestrian. Onward it blew into the mountains, till at last it dissipated. But with its dying breath it ruffled the hair of James Bradley.

James Bradley stood at the gates of a prison that he did not know the name of, and he shivered.

The only other living soul he could see was a very bemused- and amused, as well- Willis Japhon, who hugged his tan suit closer to himself. Like himself, Willis had been apprehended by FBI agents as well, although of course the younger man had come peacefully. There he had been driven to DCA, where James had been standing as well. Together they had embarked on the flight, a Boeing 737 specifically requisitioned for this purpose. On the 737 they had met the Ambassador to Japan and his staff, a certain John Roos, a mild-mannered man, who, like himself, was a lawyer, although Roos was from the West Coast. Together they had embarked to Japan, with good-natured conversation being traded about between the two parties.

They had, of course, eventually gotten to Tokyo, and while Roos and company went off to their hotel to sleep, James and Willis had to sneak off and eventually locate a driver who had been specifically assigned for this task. The driver had droven them into the nearby mountains, and for a few minutes James found himself wondering if the man actually was a government assassin that was going to shoot them and leave their bodies in a ditch. Despite the blatant idiocy of that idea, James still found himself thinking about it.

The tension had gotten worse when the man had taken a side road, so that the desolate path which they were traveling upon became even lonelier. James found his hand straying near the handle of the revolver, and when the side road led to another side road, he gripped the handle tightly. So tightly, in fact, that had his hand moved a few inches downward, James Bradley might have found himself with a hole in his leg.

But eventually the driver had stopped in front of a prison, and left them there, suitcases and travel bags in hand. Well, it was more Willis that held all the heavy baggage. James merely clutched his legal briefcase, and stared at the lonely prison.

A buzzing sound filled the cool air, and the gates slid open with a sound reminiscent of nails clawing across a chalkboard. Willis's shoulders jumped up close to his head, and the man wore a frown on his face.

"The sound's not that bad, Willis," said James, as they started walking towards the prison.

There they were met by three prison guards, who, after James notified them that they were supposed to be there, nodded and let him in. They attempted to frisk him, but he merely fished out the revolver. Slowly, of course. He grabbed it by the very tip and took it out slowly- very slowly, actually, to indicate that he wouldn't shoot the guards. When that painful process was over he dropped the gun with a loud clink on the proffered tray. Willis emptied his pockets, and placed five paperclips, three very folded-up balls of paper, and most surprisingly, a silver Swiss Army knife.

"That's a lot of stuff you got there," said James as they were led by the guards into the building.

"Yeah," said Willis, shrugging. "On the 'net, it does say to bring a lot of stuff, so bring I did. Which reminds me, they're keeping our luggage, right?"

James looked behind, and saw one unfortunate guard attempting to carry all the luggage they had brought- which wasn't much. There was James' red luggage trolley, and Willis' three luggage bags. James watched the guard attempt to carry all three while dragging James' trolley, and he laughed inside at the comic sight. Plus the man had to try and carry Willis' briefcase. James' briefcase was in his own hands, as he held the thing in preparation for what was going to happen.

They were led through a maze of twisting hallways and numerous doors, till at last they came upon a black, unmarked door with two armed guards standing stoically on either side. The unfortunate cargo carrier deposited all the luggage where he stood, and walked away briskly.

"I guess this is it, then," said James. He nodded to the guards, and one of them opened the door.

Inside the room, Willis took to standing by the doorway, whistling _It's A Small World, After All_ on endless repeat. James placed his briefcase on the table and scratched his head in thought. He opened his briefcase and sorted the papers in there, but his mind tingled with anticipation at the thought of meeting a live demon. Of course it had to be under some kind of drug to suppress it from using its powers, but still, _a demon_!

They were here, in Japan. Now all they had to do was wait.

So they did.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Once again, thanks to those of you who have followed, favorited, or managed to read all the way to this chapter. May you have luck finding good fanfictions to read!_


	5. Fireside Chat

For the five hundredth and sixty-fifth time since the moment she had been thrown into the padded cell which currently served as her place of imprisonment, Rias Gremory was bored.

The boredom was all-encompassing; it was like a deadened weight on every corner of her being. Up until now, the peculiar qualities of boredom had never been such a driving force in her life before. Always there was something to do; whether it was training her peerage or fighting opponents. But now all that was gone. It had been taken away from her with that devastating assault by the human forces on Kuoh Academy. She had seen all that she held dear ripped away from her, and now she had been tossed in this hole- to rot, to stay there until the end of time itself.

The cell was white and immaculate, with four lights built into the ceiling shining soft light down on her. On the other side of the room, a small yet luxurious mattress lay, barely big enough for her body. The padded cell itself was soft, and Rias found that she could use the cell itself as a place to rest, without need of the actual bed itself.

But of course, lying on the ground did not befit a noble like her. _Better_ , she thought, _better to preserve one's honor in torment than languish in self-indulged impropriety for comfort's sake._

She found that getting up and down was a challenge- her upper torso had been straitjacketed, with her arms placed squarely across her chest like some kind of corpse mummified the way the Ancient Egyptians mummified their kings and nobles. Her legs were chained together, but at least they weren't straitjacketed. She fell at least five times an hour trying to get up and down and across the cell.

The thought of time reminded her of the small fact that the passage of time was almost inevident to her, since she was stuck in this cell. There was no outside light, and the only contact she had received with the outside world was a few panels of food slipped through the tray. The food itself was good, but Rias had let it cool- her arms were restrained, after all, and she would not, would not _ever_ , eat like a dog. That was part of the routines of prison, she realized, that they would take away the quality that made one a sentient being of free will and choice, and transform one into little more than an animal, subject to the whim and fancy of the jailers.

Even though she might starve, Rias refused to eat, if it meant that her honor and dignity would be degraded.

She wondered briefly if Akeno or any other of her servants were being treated in a likewise manner.

There was literally nothing to do. Imagining fictitious scenarios was an utterly worthless activity- there was nothing that she could do about them, and thinking about killing her jailers was, first and foremost; an undignified thought, and second; an unrealistic and utterly implausible scenario. She briefly thought about Issei, and wondered where he was at the moment. She even thought about pleasuring herself, which was in itself _again,_ an undignified and stupid thought. It was not stupid and foolish because it was not becoming of a noblewoman; it was stupid and foolish because both her hands were tied up in a way that ensured that her hands would never get anywhere past her _shoulders._ If they could not get there, then there was little chance that they could get between her legs.

All in all, prison was a terrible experience.

 _Abandon all hope, ye who enter here._

 _That_ was a line inscribed above the Gates of Hell in Dante Alighieri's _Divine Comedy_. Rias concluded that the phrase should be inscribed above every prison and jail across the human world, and the Underworld, as well. If she ever got out of this horrifying place, she would ask her father to inscribe that into every such facility across her family territory.

Had she been in full control of her powers, Rias could have easily blasted through the walls of the prison, liberated her peerage, and escaped.

But the humans had done _something_ to her. When she had woken to find herself in this padded cell, she had tried to call on her Power of Destruction. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was as if her family's power was gone completely; as if she had never had the might of Bael in the first place. Rias attributed this to some human contraption, but it shocked her all the same. The fact that humanity had invented some kind of power, some kind of special technique to shut off her powers terrified her, and it made her think of a world where humanity had quashed the Three Factions with this. That scenario, though a horrifying one, managed to make Rias forget her pervading boredom for a while, and when she finally concluded it, she was once more subject to the boredom, as always.

But whatever the humans had worked on her seemed to be wearing out. A substantial amount of time had passed, and Rias had found herself absentmindedly reaching for the Power with no results whatsoever. She tried repeatedly, hoping to find something that could assure her that she still possessed some inkling of might; something that separated her from the mortals who had wreaked this on her in the first place.

And then she had found it.

The feeling was like trying to say words at the tip of one's tongue; she could feel the Power, now, but she could not access it, could not use it. It was just there, ever so tantalizingly out of reach.

But lately the Power had been growing. It had started to move closer, ever within reach. And yet it was painstakingly slow. The process was taking an unbearable amount of time; time that Rias did not have. She needed to free herself from the human prison. The boredom and the painstaking effort of summoning the Power was more than enough to break Rias, and she did not want that to happen. She needed to free herself before that happened, and so she concentrated on drawing the Power into her grasp.

After what seemed like an eternity of concentration, she finally did it.

She had managed to grasp the Power of Destruction, and the sensations she got blurred the lines between simple pleasure and ecstasy.

Until now, Rias had not realized how much the Power of Destruction was so important to her. It was a good-sized chunk of her being, and it was her security besides. It hated her to realize it, but she had taken the Power for granted through her entire life. Now, when it had been taken away from her, she had realized its importance, and pined for it. And now, when she had finally retaken it, she realized how much she needed it.

But what was really sordid about the whole affair was how little of the Power she found herself drawing upon.

While normally she could call on a great amount of the Power without much effort, it was taking all her concentration and energy just to draw out a little bit. So little, in fact, that it was not the Power, even. It was merely a red-tinted candle-flame, which was nothing compared to the fistful she could normally summon.

Nevertheless, Rias stoked and nurtured that flame. She fed it all her concentration and energy and effort, and for all her care, she could only feel the flame increase by an inconsequential amount. Nevertheless, the flame existed, and she poured the flame into the confines of her straitjacket, hearing the slow but steady hiss of flame burning through cloth and chain.

It took a while, but eventually she saw a finger sized burn appear on the straitjacket, right where her right breast would be. Taking care to ensure that the flame would not burn her hands or arms, Rias fed the flame once more. The burn began to increase, ever so slowly. Despite its painstaking slowness, it still grew. That in itself was enough to assure Rias that she could somehow free herself.

A loud sound suddenly startled Rias, causing her to do a strange kind of sitting hop from where she was currently sitting on the padded floor. The cell wall directly facing her groaned, before three pads on the very western end of the wall swung open, revealing the outside world.

Rias swung some of her red hair over the burn to conceal the burn, and waited.

A hard-faced armed guard stepped into the padded cell, holding what looked to be an assault rifle in his hands. Rias didn't know what it was exactly- human weaponry confounded her, and she had found herself developing an instant aversion to it, especially after what she had witnessed at Kuoh Academy.

"Get up, demon," said the guard, motioning to her with his gun.

Grudgingly, Rias stood up, and for a second her legs threatened to buckle. Of course- they were unaccustomed to their current position. But through sheer willpower they held, and Rias turned to look at the guard.

The man looked at her impassively. "Get out," said the guard.

Rias looked at him. "For what? Execution?" She poured all her dignified contempt and hatred into that phrase, and she was pleasantly surprised when the guard took a step back in surprise.

"No. You've got visitors."

"Visitors?" Rias thought aloud. The only _visitors_ that she imagined were... well... nonexistent. Her family could not get to her here... unless they could? Perhaps her brother, or maybe her father was here with a delegation to receive her and her peerage. But as soon as she thought that, Rias dismissed it. It was an unlikely scenario, and certainly far, very far from what could happen.

But who could be visiting her here in this squalid place?

"Visitors?" she asked again, just to be sure of what was going on.

"Yes, demon, _visitors_. Now come on- we haven't got all day."

Confused and somewhat surprised that the guard didn't already notice the sizable burn on the straitjacket, Rias heaved a sigh and followed the guard outside into the desolate world beyond.

* * *

"Don't you think this will be exciting?"

These were the words that Willis Japhon uttered to James Bradley, who was, not surprisingly, in a foul mood.

He usually detested meeting new clients. Clients back home were not necessarily unlikable, but they underestimated his patience. They apparently thought a lawyer's patience was nearly infinite, as they regaled him with their version of the criminal act that had driven them to seek refuge in his waterfront law office. Of course, a lawyer's job was to listen to such boring tales, and extract something that could help from that, but more often than not the odds were _not_ in their favor. Though he was supposed to defend clients to the utmost of his ability- and he did, of course- sometimes James could not help but grow sick of his many clients' tales. It was human, after all, to hold sins and imperfections, and he was no different.

This, however, was going to be a client of an entirely different breed.

For starters, he had never had a client who lived among the flames of Hell. He had never had a client who was hundreds of years old, and he had never had a client who had fought against the Lord Almighty himself- not to mention the fact that the Lord was actually real. Those who had propagated the Bible were not wrong after all, and he found himself cursing the numerous times that he had cursed God's name for bringing various misfortunes on him that he had since long forgotten. He also cursed the many times he had felt contempt for Claire for being devoutly religious. Though he had not the heart to tell that to her face, he had always believed that the existence of a God, of any higher power, actually, was simply ridiculous.

But now things were different. Now was a good time to be religious.

"Hey," said Willis, waving his arms around, "ya listening?"

"Yes," said James, not listening at all, "Go on with whatever you were trying to say."

"Well... I can't wait to meet a demon!" Willis said excitedly.

"Willis," said James, slowly, turning to his colleague, "are you _insane_?"

The younger man looked at him with an abashed look. "Now, I know what you're going to say, James, but think about it- all our lives our parents have tucked us in at night telling us that angels are looking after us and that they'll keep the demons at bay. And it's _scary_ to think that demons exist, but still... _a demon_!"

"Sure," said James. He opened his briefcase again and looked through it, trying to pass the time. Over the past hour or so he had organized the contents of his briefcase countless times, waiting for the demon to arrive. His hands were sore from organizing them over and over, but he did the mundane task anyway. It helped to bring his mind off the impending fact that he was about to meet a demon.

Silence.

James sat there uncomfortably, trying to concentrate. He heard the swift clapping sounds of Willis' shoes upon the prison floor, which faded after half a minute.

Silence.

"Do you think they serve good food here?" said Willis, looking around, "because I'm hungry."

"Willis," said James, turning around to glare at his colleague again, "this is a _prison_. Do you think they serve Caesar salad and Kobe beef here?"

"They might..." was Willis' answer. He shrugged and looked around, before turning to follow up with another question: "When do you think the demon will arrive?"

"For the last time, Willis," James growled, "I don't know! Don't ask me, go ask the warden!"

Just as he said that, the door facing James swung open.

An armed guard walked in clutching an assault rifle. Behind him walked a person that James instantly recognized as definitely _not human_.

First of all, the person was a female. She was straitjacketed, and her legs were shackled together, causing an annoying clanking sound which resonated sharply every time she took a step. _Of course_ , he reasoned, _anyone, if they're dangerous enough, can be shackled and restrained in such a manner._

But then, the person sitting in front of him was most definitely not a human in the first place.

Light blue eyes stared back at him, and James recoiled slightly. The eyes were as blue as the sky itself, and they were framed in a pale face that, if it had not been for the alert and aware eyes, could have been a face framed of ivory. Flowing red hair, not blood-red, but rather crimson, flowed down the woman's back and sides, spooling over her shoulders and reaching to her breasts. Behind her, her hair reached all the way down to her hips, and then some. On top of her head, a single strand of red hair stuck out like a flagpole in the middle of a grassy field. Her legs, although shrouded by the prison tunic, were slender, although he could not guess at the state of her arms, since they were concealed underneath the straitjacket.

Willis whistled and walked around the length of the table, and it looked like he was _inspecting_ the demon. Then he stood up and backed off. He assumed his place in the corner, and stared at the demon wistfully, almost as if he had known her in the past.

"I'll leave you people alone to it, then," said the guard, who promptly walked out, closing the door behind him.

James, Willis, and the demon watched the guard go. As soon as he left, James and Willis turned their gaze onto the demon's, who met theirs eye for eye, even though it was two pairs of eyes against one.

There was a term out there called 'breaking the ice', and it did what it was literally meant to do; breaking the wall of social awkwardness between people who had never met each other before. Here was such a scenario; neither he or Willis had ever laid their eyes on a demon before, and he guessed that the demon had never seen them before.

No one seemed to want to break the ice here.

Uncomfortably the three of them occupied their places; the demon and James sitting uncomfortably on the rickety wooden chairs, and Willis standing in his corner, arms crossed over his chest like a so-called 'bad-cop' in the 'good-cop, bad-cop' interrogation routine. Twice he saw the demon glance somewhat nervously towards Willis. When he saw that he stifled a laugh. Oh, if the demon knew what Willis was really like!

The awkwardness was reaching intolerable levels. The demon glanced around nervously, while the frown on Willis' face increased greatly. If things went how they were currently going, James anticipated a shouting match of sorts between all three of them, which would not look good for any of the parties involved.

Drawing on his knowledge of the Japanese language, James exhaled to steady himself, and spoke: "Alright then, let's get started."

* * *

Humans were interesting, that much Rias could ascertain.

The two men in front of her were very interesting.

Occupying a place by the table was a man in a blue suit and a black tie, staring at back her with a calculating gaze. His hair was black and oily, and it fell to the beginnings of his neck. He was moderately clean-shaven, but Rias could still see the beginnings of a mustache and beard above his mouth and chin, indicating that he hadn't shaved in awhile. His hands were balled together in a big fist which he was currently resting his chin upon.

Her gaze drifted to the room's other occupant, and she found himself instantly liking the other man.

Like his partner, he, too, was long-haired, to the beginnings of his neck, but it was light brown and a lot more cleaner than his colleague's. He was clean-shaven, extremely so, and he returned her gaze with intelligent yet somewhat aloof hazel-colored eyes. He wore a tan suit and red tie, and his hands were crossed across his chest. She saw his gaze linger on her for a bit before he finally returned to stare at his feet.

This was an interesting duo, that was for sure.

"Alright then," said the man in front of her, "let's get started."

"Who are you," Rias said, cutting across the man, "and why are you here?"

At her phrase the man arched an eyebrow. The other man flinched, biting his lip as he did so, before returning to a more normal pose.

"Well," said the man, "I am James Bradley, and this is my colleague Willis Japhon."

Interesting. He spoke Japanese, with an accent that she could only identify as one who spoke English. She herself spoke English rather well- it was a required language to learn as a child. Although she and Akeno had found themselves cursing it, her mother had always reminded her that English would come in handy someday. Always she had told her mother that day would never come. But come it did, and that day was today.

"There is no need to speak Japanese," Rias said in English, and she saw the two flinch. "Speak English, if it suits you."

"Well then," said the man, switching to a rather strange British-American-hybrid accent of English, "that was abrupt. Allow me to re-introduce myself- I am James Bradley, and this is my colleague, Willis Japhon."

The man in the corner- Willis, she supposed was his name- smiled and waved at her, before returning to his stoic pose.

"We are attorneys from the United States of America, and we have traveled here to Japan to represent you in the next trial-"

"Forgive me," said Rias, cutting him off, "but I haven't even introduced myself yet. I am Rias Gremory, heir to the Gremory family. It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"It is mine as well," said the man- no, _James_ was his name. "In any case, as I was saying, we're attorneys from the United States, and we are here to represent you in the upcoming trial which will take place."

Trial? The Japanese were going to try her for some nonexistent crime?

"Excuse me," said Rias, looking at James, "but the Japanese government is going to try me, in their court of law, for _self-defense_?"

" _Self-defense_?" said the lawyer in a tone that could only mean incredulity. " That's not what the soldiers you fought on the battlefield say."

"Soldiers? There were survivors?" Rias said, surprised. But then she realized that it was obvious. Of the second wave of men that her peerage had fought, there were bound to be survivors. Plus eyewitnesses of the first wave.

"Yes," James replied. He looked at her with an arched eyebrow. "There are always survivors."

"Obviously," Rias said, "if you had read the so-called _reports_ correctly, you would have found that the soldiers clearly fired on me and my peerage-"

"Hold up," said James, "what's a _peerage_?"

Rias sighed, and continued. "A peerage is a group of reincarnated devils who have been reincarnated using Evil Pieces to create new devils. Once reincarnated, they follow the person who reincarnated them, because, almost all of the time, the one who reincarnated them is a pure-blooded devil, descendant of one of the thirty-four surviving great devil families. This system was created in the aftermath of the Great War to replenish the numbers of devils."

The lawyer looked completely and utterly bemused. "Okay..." the man said slowly, "but what does that have to do with the battle of... ah... _Kuoh Academy_?"

She groaned in disgust. Whatever this man was, he certainly did not seem like a lawyer. In her mind, lawyers were sharp-tongued and fast-witted individuals who could easily deduce the greatest things from the smallest details. Or at least, that was what lawyers in the Underworld were like- Rias had seen a few of them working for her father and Sirzechs in the past, and they were all were courteous and intelligent men and women- nothing like this mortal here who claimed to be a lawyer.

But Rias had to admit to herself that James Bradley held some authority in the mortal plane; otherwise he would have never gotten into the prison in the first place.

"My peerage and I were at Kuoh Academy, helping to evacuate it from the oncoming attack. We had received news beforehand that the Japanese government would be commencing an attack on the school. With the assistance of Sona Sitri and her peerage, we were able to evacuate the school completely, but we were not able to get out ourselves. So we attempted to sneak around and get out, but then the Japanese government opened fire, causing the events which led to me sitting here in an interrogation room... with you."

"That sounds nasty," said Willis from where he stood in the corner. "Where'd you get the information, anyway?"

"Sources," Rias replied. It would not do to simply give these two everything that had transpired. Attorneys they might be, and then some. For all she knew they could have been mercenaries hired by the Japanese government sent to squeeze as much information as they could from her. It was a dubious tactic, but one that had been used, and still was used, by everyone everywhere, be they human, devil, fallen angel, or even angel.

"So just to be sure," said James, pointing a pen at her absentmindedly, "you refer to yourself as a _devil_. Are you _the_ Devil? Or are demons actually called devils?"

"First of all," said Rias, slightly offended, "we are not _demons_. I think that calling a devil a demon is like calling a black-skinned human a... a..."

She refused to go on, for to go on was to speak a very offensive word, and even though there was not one single black-skinned human in the Underworld, it was still very offensive to use such a phrase.

"Yeah... let's not go there," James said, leaning back. "Anyway, shall I call you Miss Gremory? You seem like a fine young lady with manners."

" _Rias_ is good enough, thank you," said Rias, and a small smile stretched across her face, "and if I may ask, where did you learn to speak Japanese? Though it may be such that you speak with a very... ah... _pronounced_... accent, you still speak very good Japanese for somewhat who is not of that race."

"My wife, Claire," said the lawyer, smiling as well. "She's a complete _weeaboo_. She made me buy a katana, tons of Japanese paintings, even the wooden floor mats, for crying out loud! There's also tons of mangas stacked neatly into the shelves, and at least thirty different anime CD's lying around our room. Once I almost tripped over the first season of _Haiyore! Nyaruko-san_. Which is funny, because I was watching that anime, and to be honest it's kind of entertaining to watch an alien girl fight other aliens."

Rias laughed. _Haiyore! Nyaruko-san_ was indeed a good series, and it actually reminded her of her exploits at Kuoh Academy at times.

"Alright then," said the lawyer, "These matters aside, we need to get down to business."

"Let me guess, then," said Rias, looking at the attorney, "you want to represent me in the upcoming trial, aren't you?"

"Well, yes!" said James, and here he opened the briefcase. "Here you go, ah... Rias." He produced three papers and placed them directly in front of her. They were in English, but on top of the page was a very big notice stating: **JAPANESE FORMS ADAPTED TO ENGLISH**.

Rias then noticed her arms were still underneath the straitjacket.

"How am I going to lift these papers if I can't use my arms?"

James sighed. "I'll do them for you." He walked over to her and stood next to her like some kind of secretary.

First she read over the part that stated her rights as a… convicted felon, adapted to Japanese laws, but still in English. She read over them, and then continued on, muttering to herself all the while. Twice she caught James giving her a few strange looks, and Willis staring at her with a face that could be mistaken for perversity, but otherwise she read uninterrupted.

At the very bottom of the three papers, was a line intended for the signature of the prospective client.

"Wait a moment," she said, turning to the lawyer, "if I sign this, I'll technically be admitting to crimes, right?"

"Well… if you call two hundred counts of first-degree murder, disobeying government orders, and destruction of property as crimes, then yeah."

"Crimes? Murder? Disobeying government orders! Destroying property?!" she asked, and she felt the sparks of rage fly in her being. "How dare you say so! I fought to protect myself and my peerage, for whoever harms them will face my wrath! Those humans should've known better than to fight me and my peerage! If they will fight us, then they will face me!"

"Face you?" said James, and here he backed a step. "Face you? What are you, some kind of general?"

Rias was absolutely enraged. This human dared claim her something she was not? How dare he? Though he was certainly older than her, he did not know the responsibilities of caring and training a peerage, did not know the consequences and shame of letting one's peerage members die! He did not know anything!

"Do you know who I am?" Rias said, rising from her seat.

"Who?" said James. "All I know is that-"

"FOOL!" Rias thundered. "I AM RIAS GREMORY, DAUGHTER OF LORD GREMORY OF THE SEVENTY-TWO PILLARS! THROUGH MY MOTHER'S SIDE I AM AN HEIR OF THE GREAT BAEL, AND THROUGH MY FATHER, THE GREAT GREMORY! I AM THE CRIMSON-HAIRED PRINCESS OF RUIN, A PURE-BLOODED DEVIL, AND YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO JUDGE ME! I, WHO WILL LIVE MILLENNIA LONG AFTER YOUR BONES ARE DUST! I, WHO AM LEAGUES GREATER THAN YOU ARE!"

She felt the ground hum with her wrath. She felt it shake and undulate and thrash with her might, and she relished it. Channeling her energy, she used it to make the lawyer trip, and he fell over on his face, growling.

"AND LOOK WHERE THAT GOT YOU NOW!" the lawyer screamed back in her face, and Rias fell back into her seat. How he had gotten so fast up from the ground and was in her face, Rias did not know. All she knew was that the sight had been so frightening that the ground had ceased to shake, and she was back in her seat, her fingertips still tingling from the power she had managed to recall.

"Look around you," the lawyer growled, pointing to the cracked walls and the very scared-looking Willis. "Look where your high and mighty devil crap got you now! You're in prison! If you're so great and powerful, then you should have just busted out of here, retaken your peerage, and gone back down to Perdition! But no! You, with all your power and… greatness… have gotten yourself locked up, thrown in isolation, and you can't do anything about it! Face it- you need my help, and I can't do that if you're SCREAMING IN MY FACE, GREMORY!"

Rias felt steam rise in her again, and she stood, matching his height. The ground shook again with her wrath, stronger this time, so that it almost felt as if a small earthquake was hitting. Small, first, then it increased slowly over time. But over time was an understatement. It was damaging nonetheless, and the lawyer backed off slowly. In the corner Willis whimpered and cowered when her gaze slid over his eyes.

"DO NOT INSULT MY FAMILY NAME!" Rias thundered. "GREMORY WAS A GREAT AND POWERFUL DEVIL, A NOBLE ANCESTOR! THROUGH HIM MY FAMILY HAS INHERITED GREAT MAGIC, AND THROUGH THE LINE OF BAEL I HAVE INHERITED THE POWER OF DESTRUCTION! YOUR MOUTH IS NOT WORTHY TO USE THE NAME!"

It seemed that despite her undeniable power, the lawyer was not one to give up. Indeed, he stood in her face and shouted back, "Oh, you may be so high and mighty, but no one, especially the Japanese government, cares about family titles, magic, or powers of destruction when you're in fucking JAIL, you BITCH!"

"What… what did you just call me?" Rias said. She had heard it very clearly, the word he had just used for her. "I...am...not...a... BITCH!"

She kneed him between the legs, causing him to bend over in pain. The lawyer grunted and collapsed, and Rias smiled. Her powers were returning to her, and she decided to use them.

The room darkened as she summoned the Power of Destruction- not to her hands, or arms, or anything like that, but just to darken the room and give the lawyer an inkling of her true might. As expected, he stared back at her with a determined face.

"What are you going to do about it, huh?" said James. "Blow me to bits? Kill me where I lie on the ground? You're going to die, either way. The guards are going to come in here and blow you to hell, pun not intended."

"Fool," Rias sneered. "I can kill them like fish in a barrel before they can even lay one bullet before me."

"Maybe, but you can't fight all of them at once."

"If I liberate my peerage, then we'll escape."

"You don't even know where your peerage is."

"Then prepare to die, human." The lawyer was brave, that was for sure, but insulting a Gremory? That was just plain idiocy.

"Why… can't we… be friends…" came a tune from over the corner, "Why… can't we… be friends…"

"What?" Rias said, turning to the man in the corner.

He was looking at her with a idiotic grin on his face, and even as he looked at her he was singing.

"Why.. can't we… be friends…" sang Willis. "Why… can't we… be friends?"

"What are you saying, human?"

Now he waltzed out of the corner and stood before her, grinning even more idiotically this time. "I seen… ya around… for a long long time… I really remember you… when you… drank my... wine...Why can't we… be friends!"

"Willis," cried James from where he lay on the ground, "what the hell are you doing? She's going to kill you, for goodness' sake!"

"Seriously though…" said Willis, who actually was a few inches taller than her, "why… can't we be friends? I mean, we're only trying to help you!"

"Get away from her," moaned James, "she's going to kill-"

"Quiet, human," Rias snarled, and turned to the one in front of her. "What was your message with that song?"

"Cooperation. Funtime! Beautiful sunrises. Live and let live. Enjoy life! Why can't we just all be friends? I mean, lawyers may sound bad, but hey, you've gotta make a living somehow. It's just that…well… lawyering is a somewhat strange profession. You make money off people's misery. It's a weird job. Even if you're a tax attorney like me. People don't want to pay taxes! But they gots to. So they go to tax accountants. Now if you're going higher up the ladder, you get tax attorneys like me, who will sort out your weird taxy stuff. Not to mention wacky divorce people. I mean, divorces are sad. The breaking up of love! But there's got to be someone there making sure that no one gets hurt even more. All in all, like I said. Lawyering is a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY weird job!"

"And your point being?" said Rias, arching an eyebrow. At least this lawyer wasn't as belligerent as his colleague. In fact, some of his nonsense was actually making sense.

"Let's all work together!" Willis said, swinging a fist towards the wall. Now he evoked the image of a used car salesman, like the portrait of Richard Nixon she had once spotted on the wall of her family palace. Although the man had never been a used car salesman, Akeno had always said that he looked like one, and Rias had found herself agreeing with her Queen.

"Yeah…" said James on the floor, "let's all work together. If we work together, I get paid, you walk out alive with your pals, everyone's happy."

"Paid? Who said you would get paid?" Rias said, looking at James.

As she watched he stood off the floor slowly, using the table for support. "I never wanted to come here, to this strange and foreign land of my wife's obsessions. In fact, Claire obsessing over this country made me hate this place even more. But here I am, in a land I don't especially like. And the only venue I have is to defend _you_. Yes, you, from the wrath of the Japanese government."

"Forced?" said Rias. Here she looked at the attorney strangely. "I thought that attorneys could pick and choose between trials."

"True, but when your brother is the damned President, you can't do anything about it."

"Jeffrey Bradley?" said Rias, spelling out the name of the current American president. "You're... related to him?"

"Yeah," said James, wiping spittle off his mouth and sitting down on his chair again. "He's not the greatest brother to have around."

"I can imagine," said Rias, thinking of her relationship with Sirzechs. Their relations were far from abysmal, but Sirzechs' duties as a Great Satan often kept her from seeing him often, and when he did, he often was working. Even Grayfia and Millicas were no match for him when he was in his working 'mode.' Rias guessed that the relationship between James and his supposed Presidential brother was more or less the same.

"Yeah," James said again. "It sucks. You have a brother like that?"

"Yes, I do," said Rias. It was probably not a good idea to get into the whole fact of the Great Satans. This human had proven himself hostile to the mere fact that she was descended of the line of Gremory. To tell the lawyer of the rest of the Underworld now would probably cause him to explode, and given the screaming state that she had seen him in, it was a given possibility. A very possible thing, indeed. She would have to wait for more opportune times to do so.

"So, the salary," said James. "I think I deserve a little compensation for my misadventures, now, do I?"

"No," said Rias, scoffing, "I think you should suffer a little more and work without pay."

"Excuse me?" said the lawyer in a tone that suggested mock outrage. "Are you telling me to work _pro bono_? In what could be the trial of the century? Yeah, no way. I expect cash. Cold, hard, front-up cash."

"I could always just refuse you and wait for another attorney," said Rias. Surprisingly James did not flinch; he did not recoil in fear or anything like that. Instead, the grin which he had been wearing grew ever wider.

"Yeah. No one is going to represent you, Rias. No one wants to associate with a _demon_. In fact, a whole slew of Japanese attorneys have been committing _seppuku_ because they got contracted by the government to represent you. Not that Tokyo expected them to win anyway."

"The Japanese government will find _someone_ ," Rias said, and yet she was slightly unsettled at the fact that lawyers were killing themselves to avoid meeting her. She was not that bad! She was a living, thinking being, and she was not that different from humanity. The only difference was that she had wings and greater powers than they. Sure, they were far more weaker than her and her kind, but they still shared a kinship. And yet humanity still called itself different from her kind.

"If you reject me, I'm pretty sure that someone will come along and try to save you. But they'll either be a crapsack or charge obscenely high prices."

"Obscenely high? The House of Gremory is fabulously wealthy. We can pay any price that humans can think of."

"Seeing that this is the first case of its kind, I can see the lucky attorney who lands the contract charging upwards of fifty thousand United States dollars per hour. I don't know if the so-called House of Gremory conducts business in U.S. dollars, but I swear, that wealth will be seriously depleted by the time this trial's over, for good or worse."

Rias considered what the lawyer was saying, and she found truth in his words. It was not a very trusting truth, but it was the kind of truth in which one was willing to believe the other simply because it was true. And believing someone else, even if it was just because that person was spouting the truth, still required some amount of trust.

"Fine, then," said Rias. "I'll accept your offer of representation. What's your starting price?"

"Two thousand per hour in court. Plus five hundred for every hour of work I do outside of court. Three hundred for every hour of paperwork I produce. _And_ a two-thousand dollar retainer."

" _I_?" Rias asked, looking towards Willis, who was now whistling the tune of the song that she had heard him sing earlier.

"Yes, me." said James. "I'm not charging you for Willis' time, because honestly, he's never worked a criminal case before." He leaned in and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. " _Out of all the attorneys who work for me at my firm, it was he that Jeffrey had to pull out of nowhere._ "

Rias agreed with James right then and there. But she also had to talk business. "I don't have access to my family's wealth as of the moment. Unless you're planning to work _pro bono,_ or whatever you call the term for _working for free_."

"Alright then," James said grudgingly, pushing over the forms which would allow Rias to officially appoint James as her attorney, "sign, if you agree."

"If you haven't noticed," said Rias, chuckling for the first time in a while, "my arms are still bound."

"That can be corrected," said the lawyer. He stood up and yelled in Japanese, "Guards!"

A few seconds passed, before the door behind James was wrenched open. In burst two guards, their assault rifles pointed upwards, fingers ready to shoot. Willis yelped and crouched down into a ball, muttering nonsense the entire time. Seeing that there was no threat, the guards lowered their guns and looked at the attorney quizzically.

"You called for us," said one of the guards, "but no one has been hurt, yet. So why did you call us in?"

"I need her temporarily freed to sign the forms of representation." James said curtly, in a flat and dead tone.

"That's dangerous, you know," said the other guard, but he complied. Together the two men untied the straitjacket and undid the chains.

Rias stretched her arms out and heard the joints pop as she flexed her arms and wrists. In front of her, James gave her a knowing stare, as if to say _Don't even think about using your powers._ The attorney was right- the two men were standing behind her, and even though she could feel her Power at its greatest, they could easily bury bullets in her back if she tried to do anything. The only thing she could do was stretch, sigh, and sign the forms.

James gave her a pen, and Rias clutched it. _I am about to sign away my defense to an almost complete stranger_ , she thought, and briefly she held back from signing. But as she thought about it, she thought back to the point that James Bradley was an attorney. Although she knew almost nothing about him- other than the fact that he had a wife who adored Japanese culture like her- she could almost _feel_ that James was going to be a good attorney.

The signing was quick and brief- she signed her name in the most beautiful cursive she could muster at the moment, and ending the _y_ in her name with a long dash that filled the rest of the space to sign. She pushed the forms back to James, who smiled as he read through them, before packing them in his legal briefcase.

"Well," said James, as the guards bound her again with the chains and straitjacket, "mission accomplished. I am now counsel for Rias Gremory." He seemed to be talking to himself as he said so, numbly packing the papers back into his briefcase.

"Willis?" said James, straining his neck over the guards to seek out his co-counsel, "it's time to leave."

"Oh, okay." The tax lawyer got up, giving the guards a wide berth. As he did so he smiled at Rias with a wide grin, before taking his place at James' side.

"Until next time," said James, waving at her briefly, before turning to leave with a swift about-face worthy of a soldier.

"Byeee!" said Willis happily as he followed his colleague. "Please be well!"

Rias watched them go, and she sighed in boredom and despair. Once more she was stuck in this prison, surrounded by silent and hostile guards, and without a sympathetic ear.

She was escorted to a kind of prison laboratory, where a man in a white laboratory coat used a large hypodermic needle to inject something- probably the substance that had, until now, nullified her powers. Rias was proven correct when what seemed to be a powerful punch seemed to hit her right in the stomach, as she felt her powers washed away almost instantly. The Power of Destruction, which had managed to manifest itself, was now completely and utterly gone. She could not even sense it, could not grasp it, could not do anything with the Power, for it was suddenly not there for her.

Rias was then escorted down the hallways and through a twisting maze of extremely darkened passages before being thrown into her padded cell once more. As soon as Rias landed on the padded floor, the lights turned off, and Rias was left to darkness- complete and utter darkness, like an ink-black night. She managed to crawl blindly until she came up against a wall. There, she rested herself against the soft, comfortable embrace of the padded wall, and waited. Waited for freedom, and escape from this terrible, terrible place. But she knew as well as any prison convict did, that though her time might be short, it would feel like forever. A second turned into a minute, a minute multiplied into an hour, an hour grew into a day, a day extended into a week, a week lengthened to a month, a month waxed into a year, and a year went on for eternity. That was what like prison was right, and Rias found herself hating it.

Once more, the inevitable and pervading boredom settled itself comfortably in Rias Gremory, accompanying her into the blissful arms of sleep.

* * *

 _And so, another chapter has been posted. Once again, I thank those of you who've followed, favorited, or read to this author's note. ( not necessarily in that order ). I encourage feedback, so that I may learn and be a better writer, or, if the feedback turns to be positive, so that I can bask in my own self-importance. ( just kidding; I'll still feel good though.) May you have luck finding good fanfictions to read out there!_


	6. Last-Minute Legal Errands

A Buick Roadmaster cruised through the streets of Tokyo, making a notable difference from the large quantities of Nissans and Toyotas and Subarus and the like. People turned to look at it for a brief glance as it went by, unsure of its strangeness. Although it was common for foreign-made cars to go through Tokyo- very common, in fact- it was still strange to see a Buick up and about. This Buick, looking new despite being old, was as different from the other cars as a single poppy is among a field of sunflowers.

And its driver was none other than James Bradley.

As he drove to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, he rolled down the windows and stared at the passerby on the streets. He stopped at the famous Shibuya Crossing, and watched the hordes of people walk back and forth across the street. He watched them, and briefly guessed at their lives and what brought them to cross this famous street. On second thought, it was more like a Japanese Times Square. He had gone through the place with Claire a few times in the past, on dates, or shopping trips, or even to buy some more architect's paper, and he always went there without a thought to the place's famousness. It was most likely the same with Shibuya Crossing, but James, being a foreigner, had thought to think of it as a famous landmark. Did Parisians ooh and ah every time they saw the Eiffel Tower? Probably not. Or Londoners when they saw Big Ben? Probably not. It was most likely the same with Shibuya Crossing.

Behind him the luggage sat, none the worse for wear after its stay in the prison. The guards had handled it somewhat roughly, checking it thoroughly for weaponry or anything that could be used as such. Some of his spare clothes had been greatly ruffled as a result, although James didn't really care. He could always get them dry-cleaned at one of the many dry-cleaners in downtown Tokyo.

He drove and drove until the shadow of the Ritz-Carlton towered above him. There he parked his Buick in the underground parking lot and entered the hotel, greeting the receptionist with a smile and going to his room. Or, well, his and Willis' room. Willis was the one that had gone ahead and suggested they stay at the Ritz-Carlton. James had initially wanted to stay at some cheap motel, but Willis had persuaded him not to. "Why settle for worse," the man had said, "when we can easily pay for five-star?"

So they had gotten a room at the Ritz-Carlton. People had stared at them strangely, which was alright. He supposed that he and Willis could've gotten separate rooms, being that they were both more than wealthy enough to do so, but he was afraid of the mere fact that Willis might've drowned in his own bath or tripped on a floor mat and broken his skull if he was let alone. Better to have James supervise him, and so they were, in a five-star hotel, sharing a room. An expensive room, at that, but still a room.

"Hey," said Willis, sitting on the bed with his Xbox controller in hand, "what's up?"

"Nothing much," said James, plopping down on the bed and dispersing the luggage, "if you call trying not to run over a hundred people nothing much."

"Oh, okay," said Willis. He wore striped pajamas, and he was playing a very violent-looking game on the big flatscreen TV situated in the center of the room. As James watched, Willis managed to somehow shoot five other players in the head at once, before ducking behind a burning truck to avoid fire from the slain players' teammates. As James watched, Willis spin his character around crazily, firing randomly. When he stopped, the chat informed them that three players had been killed by _WilJ21_. James grunted briefly, before sorting through the legal papers. He wondered what game mechanic was allowing Willis to make such exceptional kills. There was even a phrase for such feats- _Three-sixty no-scopes_ , if memory served.

"What's the game?" said James, getting up to sort through his legal briefcase, which was resting atop James' luggage bag.

"Black Ops," said Willis without even looking at him. Pausing the game, he took out his own legal briefcase and looked through that briefly. "So Rias signed the papers, which means we're good to go!"

"No, we're not," said James, turning to look at his colleague. "We have to do a lot of shit before we can even think about representing Rias Gremory and her so-called _peerage_."

"Can't we all have fun sometimes?" said Willis, arching an eyebrow at him.

The damned idiot didn't understand anything when it came to criminal law. Especially when you were now abroad.

"Willis," said James, picking out his father's revolver, "do you know what association is?"

"No? Maybe? I forgot," said Willis. He didn't even look at James' gun as he said that. Then he turned to pick up his controller and play 'Black Ops' again.

"Association," said James. "When you travel out of state, or in this case, out of country, you have to find a local attorney and get him to associate with you. That means that in lieu of getting a Japanese law license, we have to go find a _bengoshi_."

"I'm going to assume a bengoshey, or whatever you said, is a Japanese lawyer, right?"

"Correct. We have to do two things, actually. We have to associate a _bengoshi_ , and we also have to collect as much evidence as we can from the scene of the crime. Now, according to the reports here, Kuoh Academy is located in a place called... _Kuoh Town_."

That was the rough transliteration of the town's name, and he didn't know enough Japanese to translate it further.

"Where is this Kuoh Town?" Willis said, still playing Black Ops.

"At least three hours from Tokyo. We need to go there and collect evidence, like I said earlier."

"Evidence?" said Willis, setting down his controller. "Why do we need to collect evidence from Kuoh Town?"

James rolled his eyes. "When you're a criminal lawyer, you need to build up a solid case for your defendants. The greatest 'solid' pieces you can get for yourself is cold, hard, and solid evidence."

"So, uh, who's doing the evidence-taking?"

"You, obviously."

James considered the move somewhat well-thought out. Japan was not America, where one could easily make people produce documents with the doctoring of a subpoena. Not so in Japan, if you were an attorney from the United States. A so-called 'letter of rogatory', which was basically a plea for help from a U.S. court to a foreign one, was the one to do the trick here. Usually a letter of rogatory would have taken much longer to execute, but it did help, after all, to have friends in higher places.

Now, since the Japanese court in Tokyo had received the letter, they had given it to him- appended with a Japanese translation, of course-along with a stern admonishment about being in Japan in the first place. James had smiled to himself, and went on with his day. It was a low-risk gamble, to play with letters of rogatory, but one that would have far-reaching effects if it failed to work.

James handed the letter to Willis, who held it gingerly and stared at the Japanese characters on it with an uncomprehending stare.

"Is this… a letter of rogatory?"

"Obviously," said James, rolling his eyes. "Why else would I hand you that?"

"Because you're right," said Willis, crossing his arms across his chest. He looked around and sighed, before looking at James with hazel eyes that were obviously meant to garner affection and sympathy.

"Kuoh Town it is, right?" said the tax lawyer with a sense of finality, holding the letter of rogatory in his hand. "Do I really have to go? I mean, I'm pretty sure this so-called Kuoh Town is in the countryside. We just got to Tokyo, and we've spent the entire night talking to Rias Gremory about peerages and stuff! Do we really have to-"

"Willis," said James, "that's the life of a criminal lawyer. You know what? How about this-Just one more assignment, and we can both go sleep the day away until the trial begins, alright?"

Willis pouted at him. "Fine…" he said, with a voice that really didn't mean it was fine. Far from it, in fact. It was a sleepy, drowsy voice of a person who'd never slept less than ten hours every day, further exacerbated by the fact that said person had spent perhaps an hour playing intense _Black Ops_.

But then, that _was_ the life of a lawyer, and Willis had ought to get used to it.

He flicked his car keys, and got up from the bed, pulling his blue suit closer to himself. "See ya 'round, Willis."

And like that, the two attorneys, though different in personalities and areas of expertise, began the storm of legal action that would kick off the trial involving Rias Gremory and her peerage.

* * *

It was technically illegal, but then these were extremely unorthodox circumstances.

Kuoh Academy had been seized by the Japanese government, and when the school's human owners had thought to reclaim it, they themselves had been seized and thrown into jail for cooperating with demons. The school's extensive repository of files had been seized, and the JSDF had used them to seek out the students, with no luck. The Kuoh Academy students had just up and disappeared without a single trace. It was as if they had indeed been whisked away after the evacuation of Kuoh Academy and its subsequent battle, and indeed they had simply vanished. Nevertheless, the files were transcribed into the Japanese National Police Administration and Public Security Intelligence Agency, as well as other world intelligence forces- notably Interpol, the FBI, CIA, NSA, GRU, Mi6, the German BND, the Chinese MSS, and more.

Kuoh Academy itself had been placed under heavy guard. Not extreme guard, but still heavy enough to merit the label, for there was fear in Tokyo of the demons coming back with a heavy attack force designed to liberate their school. But then, argued the Minister of Defense, such a force would be enough to occupy large portions of Japan. There was no need to bring a massive military force to guard the school, he argued. His colleagues had come up with rebuttals. See the power of the red-haired demon, they had shouted at him, and imagine just five of those like her coming at the school with their powers of black death. And so it had raged on and on, with the Prime Minister and the Emperor looking on with some skepticism.

It was in this state that a white car pulled up to the heavily guarded school and emptied out a tired-looking man in a tan suit.

Matsuda Tadasu was one of the JSDF's thirty soldiers assigned to the place, armed to the teeth with an assault rifle and a sidearm on his pocket. He watched the white car pull up to the school, and he readied his gun. The car- in fact, any car, in fact- was not scheduled to be here, and so Tadasu waited to riddle the car full of bullet holes.

The man ran up to the post where Tadasu stood, and screamed in some foreign language that Tadasu guessed was English.

 _Stupid foreigners_ , Tadasu thought, before looking at the white letter that the man was waving around.

Tadasu wrenched the man's arm around his back- which was somewhat hard, given that the other man was taller than Tadasu. Yet he did it anyway, and the man yelped in fear and pain and dropped the letter. Tadasu picked up the letter. It was in Japanese- _whew!_ \- and it was from the High Court in Tokyo, explicitly letting either a ' _Jēmuzu Buraddorī'_ or a ' _U-irisu jafon_ ' into the grounds of Kuoh Academy to collect evidence and do pretty much whatever the hell they wanted. Or at least, that was Tadasu's interpretation of the legal jargon. Who knew what Tokyo wanted?

The man took the letter from Tadasu and pointed at the second name repeatedly, spewing random words in his native tongue all the while.

Jafon, or whatever his name was, seemed to be this man.

The notice was from the High Court, and so Tadasu opened the gates and motioned at the Academy with his gun.

The man looked at him and began sputtering English again, waving the letter.

Tadasu, angered, slapped the man upside the head, with the intent to shut him up. He aimed his gun at the academy and shouted one of the few English words that he knew: "Go!"

The man looked at him, abashed, and went inside, holding a camera as he went.

Tadasu rolled his eyes and let the man in.

One of his fellow men, a man by the name of Taketa Taysuke, walked over, gripping his rifle and looking at the newcomer, who was currently taking a hell of a lot of pictures with his camera. Tadasu could tell from the quick amount of flashes that were emanating from the space.

"We should've cleaned up the whole space," Taysuke growled. "Now he'll be able to do whatever the hell he wants with the evidence!"

"Calm down, Taysuke," Tadasu replied. He looked at his fellow man, and sighed. "The orders from Tokyo were clear- keep the place exactly how it was, for the government lawyers to come down and scrutinize. This man doesn't look like a government lawyer, but if he has permission, then he's allowed to come in."

Taysuke growled. "Still, it's suspicious. I'm pretty sure he works for the demons."

Now that Taysuke had stated such an idea, Tadasu began to think of the notion's accuracy. If he didn't work for the government, then who and what did this man represent?

The man finished his work and walked out the gates again, smiling at Taysuke and Tadasu as he went. He stood there for three minutes before the same white car pulled up to receive him, which promptly carried him off.

"Sick fucker," Taysuke snarled. "Should've shot him where he stood."

Tadasu sighed, and went back to his post. "Taysuke, shut up!" he added as an admonishment to his fellow soldier.

Yet what Taysuke had told him still rung in his ears. It nagged at him, like a dog nipping at his heels, and an annoying dog, too. What if the man really did work for the demons? He felt himself blush in fear for helping a potential ally of the demons. If so, he would have betrayed his nation for doing so!

Nevertheless, what was he, a simple soldier, to guess at the affairs of greater men than he?

Once back to his guard post, Tadasu sighed and signed off the guard log for the early morning. He was single, yet felt the need to go back to his apartment to hide from the sheer _evil_ that was this so-called 'Academy.'

Yet even as he drove home he felt that something was following him. He shuddered in fear and drove on, anxious to forget the imposing school and the thought of what it once carried.

* * *

It didn't surprise James, really, that Jeffrey or whoever was in charge of shipping him and Willis to Japan had not told him what was going to get shipped _with_ him. Case in point, the Buick.

The Buick had lain in the garage for at least six months. And before that, when he and Claire lived in an apartment, it had stayed underneath a tarp for at least three years. It had been the first car that he'd ever bought, and always he had thought about digging it out and using it, instead of driving Claire's Mercedes. And even before she had gotten that 2011 Mercedes, she had been driving a 2006. And she always made him drive it.

And so, when the government had somehow managed to sneak his Buick out of his house and to Japan, James was glad. The thing had been given a complete do-over, with a new engine, tires, leather seats, speakers, radio, and even a better paint job, for crying out loud! It was effectively a new Buick, and James liked it. It was nostalgic of the time when he had first bought it, and enjoyed cruising around in the sedan, picking up girls- and often having sexual congress with them- in the very front seat where he now sat. He blushed slightly when thinking of his carefree years with a deference and tenderness to Claire that he had not felt for any other woman since.

He was now looking for a certain Itukumi Tomoshi, who, according to the ad he held in his hand, was a _bengoshi_ who practiced criminal law- a fellow defense attorney, like himself. Itukumi didn't say much in his advertisement- it was a newspaper clipping, and only talked briefly about his schooling at Kyoto Law and experiencing clerking for a few Japanese district courts here and there. It gave his address at the center of the city, which, for James, was pretty damn hard to find. The streets were small, and often there were a lot of people- both Japanese and foreign- cruising about. It took him all his patience not to honk his horn- which was funny, because he had reconfigured his horn to honk a loud _FUCK YOU_ at anyone who was driving. The only problem was that he had done this in 2007, when his Buick was still unoperational, and so he had never had the chance to use the damned thing.

The horn's crude message seemed certainly appropriate for this annoying horde of pedestrians.

It wasn't illegal to have such a horn, but it drew looks for sure. Lots of looks. Not to mention that the streets of Tokyo were pretty damned small, which basically meant that if he offended a whole group of people, they could easily smash his car- and him with it.

James stilled himself and waited.

Eventually the crowds cleared momentarily and the traffic gave way, allowing James to weave his way towards his intended destination. The weaving itself was hell, too- he almost ran over at least five people before finally clearing the horde. But when he cleared the horde the tension finally relaxed, and James put in a rock'n'roll CD that was threatening to fall off onto the passenger chair, and let Queen's _We Will Rock You_ , which was also the first song that he had burned onto the damned thing, wash over him, calming his unsteady nerves and allowing him to relax in what had proved to be three days of nonstop bullshit.

But the relaxation didn't last, as he found himself pulling up in front of Itukumi's law office.

Itukumi's law office wasn't a law office. It was actually a store with no markers or signs- only a single placard above the door stating: 'Law Offices of Itukumi Tomoshi.' Pssh. As if he actually had law offices! He, James, was the one that had a damned law office!

James sighed, and decided to give the rookie- from the look of the store, he certainly seemed like a rookie- a break. Once he had started out in a dingy office with Willis, and together they had prospered. This rookie didn't look like he was prospering, but then everyone needed a start. Using that start, they could go into the world and succeed, like he did.

Remembering what he came here for, James grabbed the briefcase and exited the Buick, locking it as he went. He opened the door to the so-called 'office', and flinched when the opening jingle played. Strangely, the place seemed to be deserted. The store's facade was empty, with at least three inches of dust on the ground. He saw a few dead cockroaches packed into the corner- probably swept there. There was a pervading silence around, and it made James shiver, even though the place was far from cold.

"Who are you?" said a voice, cutting through the silence, causing James to jump. The voice spoke in Japanese, and it sounded like a tired voice of a person who was weary with the world.

Itukumi Tomoshi stepped out from a room deeper in his shop. He was young-perhaps twenty-four- and his manner of moving and eyes belied his sleepy voice. He was alert and sharp, and he seemed to be sizing James up as he seemed to stand to his full height- which wasn't that very impressive. He seemed to be only five inches taller than Claire was.

"I'm James Bradley," James said slowly, using Japanese once more. He decided to introduce himself in the Western way, because that seemed a little more familiar to him than saying _Bradley James._

"You're the demon guy, aren't you?" Itukumi said, sorting through the folder he was carrying.

"How did you know?"

"Oh, with the trial for the demons imminent, every attorney in Tokyo knows who you are. Even a lowly rookie like me."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Which was funny, because in Japanese, _yeah_ transliterated to either 'hai' or 'ee'- he was using 'hai, because that was how Claire said it- and since he spoke English as his mother tongue, it did sound like he was saying 'hello' thrice. A nonsensical side note, but still one that was actually somewhat funny.

He decided to cut to the chase, like he had done with Rias Gremory earlier.

"I think you know why I've come."

"Enlighten me," said Itukumi in a tired tone as he walked back to the inner rooms of his office.

"Association."

The word made Itukumi stop dead in his tracks. Slowly he turned around and looked at James, as if he was sizing up James again. Then he walked back to where James was standing and looked at him again.

"You want to _associate_ me for the demon trial?"

"Yes, Mr. Itukumi. What's so difficult about that? It's not like you'll be handling the case on a day-by-day basis!"

"You speak like you've never been in this business." Itukumi growled. He turned away from James again. "Look around you. Does it look like I'm thriving?"

"Of course not," James replied. "It's just an association. What's so difficult about that?"

"You Americans," Itukumi growled, "you have no care for honor or morality. All you want is money, power, and fame. Do you know what will happen if you associate me for this trial? I will become reviled, hated by my peers. Everyone will forever know me as the little bastard who fell in line with the side of the demons!"

"That's racist and insulting!" James shouted back in response. "To be honest, who cares about what everyone around you thinks? If they break down your office, sue 'em all! If your family starts to hate you, well, disown 'em! You're an adult now!You claim to be a criminal defense attorney? Well, you shouldn't care about what they think! You're a lawyer! Get a grip of yourself and help me out, you little shit!"

"Me? A little shit? Look at yourself! You have fallen so low in life you are now representing demons! Scum of the earth, sinners who dare not bask in Heaven's light! And you rear your ugly head to defend such monstrosities and abominations?"

"Everyone deserves the right to a fair trial. In the United States, even the Green River Killer was given a trial. If a serial killer that's killed forty-nine people can be given a trial, then demons can be given the same!"

"Same? Your Green River Killer was just the same like us. He was insane, but still human. Demons? No. They have had millennia to reflect on their actions, and yet they still commit atrocities beyond a serial killer's wildest dreams!"

"Tigers aren't human, and yet they, too, don't reflect on what they've killed!"

"They could be sentient and self-aware, too!"

Itukumi snarled. "No, they're not!"

James smiled. Itukumi had fallen into his hastily constructed trap. Now, if he could only use that to his advantage.

"Where's the evidence, huh? Where's the proof?"

The rookie lawyer looked at him for a long, long while. Once again he was sizing James up with his gaze, as if he refused to accept James' words.

"While you speak the truth, there is still the matter of public approval. I was not lying when I said that, you know. My name will be broadcast across Japan, and by extension, the world. I will still be hated for this."

"You do know that Galileo said the Earth wasn't flat the first time, and everyone hated him for it. Now look at science now."

"That's not the point."

"But it is the point. Everyone may hate you for helping me, but in future generations, your name might just be praised."

"Why does that matter to me? You and I will be dead, and your demon client will still be alive."

"That's still not the point. The point is, you have to help me."

Itukumi sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. I will be there. Just got to prioritize my schedule and all that."

"How's work?" _That_ question was one that you asked a close colleague or friend- not someone you had just harangued into following you. Nevertheless the question slipped out of his mind and out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Itukumi arched an eyebrow as he sorted through his collection of messy files. "Not bad. Couple of fish files and a minor embezzlement case due in one of the outlying district courts, as well at least five divorces I need to handle. Decent for a rookie, but nothing compared to what the big firms handle."

"True, true," James said, burying his hands into his pockets. "So, uh, anything I can help you with?" It was an awkward line, but still one that James found himself uttering. After all, he had just pushed this man into association, even though he technically didn't have to do that. He could've just refused James, and he would have to

"You can try this!" Itukumi said, taking half of his stack of papers and giving them to James. "If you want to help, of course," he added. "You did say you wanted to help. Here, take the fish files."

James picked up the stack and skimmed through it briefly. They were mostly typed papers, with a few handwritten notes jammed between. They were the kind of cases that nobody wanted, and poor Itukumi here had landed quite the catch.

Fish files indeed.

James pulled up a chair and began to sort.

* * *

It was evening when James finally managed to get out of Itukumi's office. His hands were deathly sore and his eyes felt like bursting. Reading Japanese had always been a challenge for him, and he remembered Claire's constant admonishments about knowing their system of writing by heart. He had made constant upset about it; told her that he would never go to Japan, and that Japan was a land of bloody anime lovers and manga fetishits. No, not fetishists. _Fetishits_.

Yet now he found himself regretting Claire's warnings, and as he opened the door to his Buick and got in, his vision blurred ever so slightly, and ended up sitting on the front passenger seat trying to get his bearings. James was so exhausted that he might've well been drunk.

He did not remember much of how he had gotten there, but he eventually found himself at the door of his hotel room, desperately trying to stand upright.

He knocked once.

Willis opened the door. The poor man looked almost as drowsy as James did, with his eyes half-closed and his shoulders sagging like a dead man's corpse. He yawned and then patted James on the back. "You got the association?"

"Yeah," said James, entering the room and tossing the suitcase on the bed. "Go figure. You got the photos?"

"Yee," replied Willis. He yawned and sat down on the _tatami_ mat, rubbing his eyes. "Did he, uh, do anything?"

"He made me sort out his damned fish files," James muttered, plopping himself down on the bed. "Boring shit. Apparently he has the largest amount of furniture debt collection files for one of the larger Tokyo furniture stores in the entire city. Yes, Willis, the entire _fucking_ city. Said he got them from at least three other larger firms who slapped them all on him. Itukumi is so screwed."

Willis wrinkled his nose in disgust-tired disgust, but still disgust. "Eww. Poor guy."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

James was slightly relieved that even Willis knew what collection law was. It was a very mundane and boring task, and definitely not the reason why students flocked to the practice of the law. Collection law sucked the big one. The defendants were often people who bought cheap, dingy furniture to begin with. The client- which was the furniture store in this case- usually didn't want the furniture back- just the money. In most cases, no answer was filed, no appearance was made in court by the defendant, so the attorney filing had to attach their own money to the case. He'd heard it was dangerous from his fellow friends and employees. Max Steiner, his main go-to-guy at his firm, had heard of a friend who was shot but not killed by an angry young man who had been ruined by the ensuing lawsuit.

It was grimy and grueling work, with each file being only worth around a couple hundred, but gather together a horde of those things and you ended somewhat well-off- enough to pay the overhead, buy groceries, and have some money left over for yourself.

Tomoshi Itukumi had landed himself the largest collection of said debt files in the Tokyo metropolis area. The stack James had been given to sort was but an inkling of what the poor rookie had to face.

When he turned to his colleague, Willis had already fallen asleep on the floor.

James smiled to himself, and picked the tax lawyer off the floor. Poor guy didn't even move once. James simply dropped Willis on the bed and watched him snore, still wearing his suit.

Drowsiness suddenly set in, deadening him to reason and consciousness. He felt himself wandering to the other side of the bed not occupied by Willis, and lying down. The softness of the mattress beckoned to his tired being and comforted him, vaguely reminiscent of Claire's warm embrace. For a moment he wanted to fight the drowsiness and get back up, but three days' worth of no sleep had caught up to him. He fought for a few moments more, but it was too great. The black fingers of sleep closed his eyelids, and James Bradley fell into a slumber so deep it might've been mistaken for death itself, had they not seen the small rise and fall of his chest. He thought briefly in those few moments about the trial, and what it might entail. Then he threw it all it away for the soft embrace of sleep.

Sleep did not find her way to lawyers very much, but when she did, she took them with a firm arm and made sure that it was very hard to wake them from her embrace.


	7. Courtroom Confrontation, Part the First

**3 days later **

The Tokyo High Court was not the Supreme Court of Japan. That in itself was a great misconception, because to the untrained eye- especially Willis- the High Court sounded like the Supreme Court of Japan. And hell, it even looked like the Supreme Court, if one had never seen the Supreme Court building before. The funny thing was that the High Court absolutely _dwarfed_ the Supreme Court in size. He had never been to the Supreme Court before, but he'd taken the time to look up some pictures on his phone, and damn, was the thing small. It seemed more like an office building than the Supreme Court of Japan, if office buildings were relatively modernist and somewhat larger than usual. That in itself, again, was a misconception, because that was where the Japanese did their interpretations of their law, and other things that were related to Japan's constitution as a whole. He'd heard that it was the most conservative court in the world- according to Wikipedia, which he had pulled up and was currently staring at- because it was supposedly "reluctant to exercise the powers given to it by the Constitution because it did not want to get involved in political issues". Which was alright, until you were informed of the fact that the Japanese Supreme Court had only struck down eight statutes for constitutional reasons. By contrast, the German Supreme Court had struck down over _six hundred._

Six hundred. And not just the exact amount. _Over_ six hundred.

Eight to six hundred was definitely a huge amount.

The Tokyo High Court, by comparison, was definitely much larger than the Supreme Court in building size, but alas, it was subject to the Supreme Court. Honestly, James had been surprised at first that the case didn't go before the fifteen judges of the Japanese Supreme Court, but then, it wasn't really a matter of constitutional integrity. Sure, demons weren't Japanese citizens, and they didn't really have an established nationality, but you could still try them under the grounds of trying foreign citizens. Which worked a lot like trying people normally, making James' task a whole lot easier.

The Buick was parked next to him, with Willis resting on the car's hood. He was reading over some files and looking at James with a reassuring glance every once in awhile.

In the distance, what looked to be an armored car appeared, driving ever so steadily towards them.

 _Probably them_ , James thought, and he walked over to Willis. "You got the brief?"

"Uh, sure." said Willis, handing his briefcase to him. Inside the briefcase was the brief- a document explaining why he and his client should prevail, and not the other side. It was not the key to the trial, but it helped to open the festivities.

The armored car got closer and closer until it finally pulled up parallel to his Buick, just short of hitting the right side mirror on his car. James wanted to yell at the idiots in the thing, but stopped short. They wouldn't hear him anyway.

The back doors opened, and eight people were pushed out roughly onto the blacktop. Eight teenagers, by the look of it. One of them, a blonde, scraped her knee pretty badly but stood up to face her injury with bravery. He recognized Rias among them- the redhead's distinctive red hair was unforgettable- and she returned his stare, too, as she stood up unsteadily.

They were all wearing pretty much the same clothing- some kind of white overshirt and a white-tipped dark magenta skirt with two strange black triangle-shaped button-up things that he could not quite describe placed over their lower body and skirt. Of course, the two boys among them were wearing a white dress shirt made of the same material the girls were wearing, and brown pants. They all looked around in a disoriented manner before they all turned their gazes to him. Interestingly, not a single glance was spared for Willis.

He decided to be brunt. "So these are demons," he remarked to Willis.

"Yeah," said Willis, who was looking at them. Them, because they were so damn different from a normal human.

No human should have had the right to look as _beautiful_ as they did. Oh, no, not _unearthly_ beautiful. They were simply just too beautiful, and he averted his gaze briefly before returning to look at Rias. And damn, did that girl had massive breasts! They were like melons crammed into her shirt, and the things spilled out over into the weird black triangles that covered her skirt, just waiting to burst through and reveal themselves in all their glory to the outside world.

"Everyone," said Rias in perfect Japanese, "this is James Bradley and his associate Willis Japhon. He will be our attorney."

"What's an attorney?" said Scraped Blonde. She looked at James with eyes that reminded him of Willis, and he made a note to himself to watch out for her. If she turned out to be one of those naive and innocent morons like Willis, he wanted to know- and stay far, far away.

But he felt obliged to respond to her question, and so he answered.

"An attorney. A lawyer. An advocate of the law. We represent, attack, defend, ruin the mighty, and embolden the weak. Sometimes vice versa. We fight for our clients and try not to give up."

The girl looked at him with interest. "Really?" she said, in a tone that reminded him far too much of Willis Japhon.

"Yes. I'm a lawyer, and I'm going to be _your_ lawyer. And your friend's lawyer, and your friend's friend's lawyer, because you're all in this together."

" _All in this together_?" a girl with short blue hair asked in a quizzical, lilting tone. "From what Rias explained, we are being… _tried_ , are we not?"

He turned to her. She looked older than the recently-injured blonde girl and her eyes were far more harder by comparison- probably she had more experience in the world. A single strand of green hung over her slightly unkempt scalp. But then, any person's hair would be unkempt from staying in prison for a while.

"Yes, ah…" he said, unsure of the whole process of asking her name.

"Xenovia. Xenovia Quarta."

The newly named Xenovia Quarta smiled briefly at him before turning to her companion, an orange-haired girl who had her hair tied into two massive pigtails stretching down to her hips. The pigtailed girl smiled briefly at him before she seemed to realize what her friend was motioning for her to do.

"Shidou Irina," the girl said, bowing low.

Now this Irina turned to a short silver-haired girl with a small cat-shaped tie in her hair. The girl looked at Irina with a questioning look before Irina motioned to him. She now looked at him with a somewhat disgusted expression on her face, which made her look somewhat like a cat of some sort.

"Toujou Koneko." said the short girl, bowing low as well.

 _Koneko_ meant kitten in Japanese, as far as the dictionaries went. So that meant Silver Hair's parents had decided to name her... _Kitten Toujou?_ Of course, she did look rather like a cat, so he guessed that was a reason for literally naming her a kitten.

Koneko turned to the person by her side, a teenaged boy with blond hair who looked relatively at ease with the turn of events. He looked at Koneko once before looking at James.

"Kiba Yuuto," said the blond-haired boy, bowing low.

Kiba now turned to his side, motioning for a girl with long black hair tied in an elaborate ponytail which stretched to her waist, adorned by a massive orange bow tie. The first thing he noticed about this girl was the size of her breasts- pretty perverted, but still, they were _massive_. They might have even been a bit bigger than Rias Gremory's, and that was saying something. The other thing he noticed about the girl was the way she carried herself. She seemed to be many things- sweet and seductive mixed into one incredibly-good looking body. A perfect _femme fatale_ in fact, even though she was smiling perfectly good-naturedly at him.

He made a note to himself to watch out for this black-haired girl.

"Himejima Akeno," said the girl, bowing low with a playful smile etched on her face.

That made six of them who had introduced themselves to him. He knew Rias already, but there was still the lone issue of the brown-haired boy who had been looking around nervously. He glanced around with a nervous smile on his face before staring at his shoes again, which he had been doing for most of the time.

Realization struck James. That was not the smile of nervousness. It was too far upbeat, too alert, too aware. James noticed the way the brown-haired boy's gaze lingered too long on his female companions' impressive chests, and how it fell on their equally good-looking legs and faces, before coming back to stare at his shoes, a blush spreading over his face as he did so.

This was not a nervous kid, no, he realized. This was a _pervert_ , who desired the women around him. It must've been driving him crazy not to get what he wanted. And despite the numerous laws and restrictions on perversion around the world, James liked perverts. In them he could discuss his love of women and their grace and their beauty. In them he was not frowned upon for desiring women. In them he could be himself, and not worry about marital businesses.

He had found himself such a fellow soul.

"Hey," said James, capitalizing on the opportunity, "what's your name?"

"Hyoudou Issei," said the brown-haired boy. Now he looked up and stared back at James with a gaze that was certainly not soul-wrenching, but rather an alert gaze that indicated he was attempting to scan James for something. Twice he saw Issei reach for his left hand, only to jerk it away quickly like something terrible was placed there.

"This is awkward," James said loudly, because it was. He'd just met his clients _just_ before the trial was due to start. Not to mention the fact that one of his clients was now technically injured. And there was the whole fact of Willis being there, reading over the brief over and over again. Not once did he notice the awkward giving of the names. He was simply too absorbed in reading the brief to care about what was going on over there.

"Hey!" James shouted, anxious to talk to anyone but the devils, "get your lazy ass over here! We have clients to talk too!"

"Sorry!" Willis responded, tucking the brief under his arm and running over to where James and the devils currently stood. "So, uh, these are devils!"

"Yes," said Rias in English, stepping forward. "Willis Japhon. I remember you." She extended a hand to Willis, who shook it warmly.

 _Probably from the various idiocies he pulled off_ , thought James, and he snickered softly.

"Just for reference, anyone else speak English?" said James, looking around.

Irina and Xenovia raised their hands. Irina went first, speaking in a crisp British accent. "How do you do, Guv'nor?" said the girl. "Would you like a Jelly Baby?"

"Seeing that we are in a parking lot, I'll have to decline that offer." he said, and he chuckled. The girl was playing both the part of a stereotypical Englishman and the Fourth Doctor from _Doctor Who._ Both were absolutely hilarious, given that they were about to enter a very non-humorous environment.

"Of course," said Irina, still speaking in the British accent, "I was mocking the stereotype of a Englishman. But in all seriousness though, I learned my English in the United Kingdom."

"Good to know," James said, and he turned to the other girl. "You say you can speak English too?"

Xenovia Quarta took a sigh, and spoke. "I am from Italy, and I learned my English there. I hope you'll forgive my accent, no?"

"Yes," James nodded, but inside he was shaking his head. The girl spoke in such a heavy accent that he could almost imagine her breaking out into _Mario_ catchphrases. She didn't sound anything like Mario, at least by pitch and tone. But the heavy accent was there. It was there, and it reinforced the stereotype of Italians being what they were.

"Anyone else speak English?" James said, opening his arms wide and waving them around. "Going once? Going twice?"

"I do," said Akeno in a somewhat heavy Japanese accent, "I speak it, if that's what you're wondering."

"Well, then," said James. "As I said, going once, going twice?"

The blond-haired girl muttered something to Xenovia, who nodded and turned to James.

"What do you want?" James snapped at Xenovia. The blue-haired girl rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips, before motioning to the blond-haired girl, who had no name as of currently. She then spoke in that annoying Italian accent, which seemed ever closer to crossing the fine line between _barely understandable_ and _what the fuck?_

"First, her name is Asia Argento, and she apologizes for not introducing herself earlier. Also, she speaks Italian as well, which is something she'd like you to know."

James smiled, but inside he was feeling the beginnings of the feeling that he associated with _wasting time._ Here he was, standing around in a parking lot with eight devils and an idiot, learning their names and watching said idiot stand around and step on his feet repeatedly. At least, that was what Willis was doing.

He locked eyes with Rias. The red-haired devil was looking somewhat abashed as well, as she watched her peerage stutter around and embarrass themselves, which was something that James was doing as well, though by a lesser degree.

"So, just one more thing before we go to court," said James, wagging a finger in their faces. "You're all devils, correct?"

Irina and Xenovia looked at him with arched eyebrows. "No," they said in unison, and he realized in that moment that a British and Italian accent side by side sounded supremely awful. "We're humans." said Irina. She crossed her arms underneath her breasts and looked at him with discontentment. "We're warriors of the Church, and you think we're the same as them?"

That earned Irina a multitude of angry glares. She promptly quieted down after that outburst, and looked around warily, hunching her shoulders as if she was trying to protect herself from possible blows, which, given the state of said glares, seemed a possible thing.

"I will have to question you two more about this whole _warriors of the Church_ thing. Last I heard, the Vatican's only military force was the Swiss Guard, so unless you two are actually Swiss Guard members-"

"No," said Xenovia. "The Swiss Guard-"

Irina cut off her companion. "Xenovia," she said in Japanese, "the lawyer literally said _later._ That can _wait._ "

"Of course," Xenovia replied mutely, before looking at James again with those hard, cold eyes. "So what now, ah-"

"James." said James, looking at each of the new arrivals in the eye. "You'll call me James, or Mr. Bradley, or whatever you want to call me."

"Actually," said Koneko quietly, "you would be called _Sensei Bradley_ , seeing as you are significantly older than us and that you are a lawyer."

James groaned and threw his hands up in the air. "You can call me whatever the hell you want!" he yelled, outraged. "All I know is that we need to get to bloody court, or the High Court is going to get extremely angry about the whole fact that the devils aren't on time! Then they're going to send out another army force, because as far as they're concerned, you people are walking armories! With C4 just ready to blow in 'em! I read over what you did at Kuoh Academy, and boy, was that some nasty shit! So get your pretty asses up those stairs and into the courtroom, pronto! Or else I'll _make_ you! With my Buick! And let's just say that won't be the prettiest thing you'd ever see."

Rias sighed, and crossed her arms underneath her massive breasts. "The lawyer is right. Come on, everyone. Let us go." As she did that, she glared at him with a gaze that almost curdled his blood. " _Do not ever do that again!_ " she hissed from underneath her breath, which her servants fortunately did not hear.

James hissed back his own retort. " _Fine! But don't you think you can use that as a pretense to waste time!_ " Again, the others did not hear, which was fortunate. Then he raised his voice to speaking level. "Come on, people, let's go! We haven't got all day!"

With some reluctance, Rias' peerage and the two self-proclaimed Church people began moving, shuffling awkwardly towards the towering expanse of the Tokyo High Court. He saw Koneko spare him a distasteful glance, and he shivered, for there was malice in her glare- malice so great that he actually took a half-step backwards. Not in fear- surprise was the key word here.

Willis whistled as he walked over to James' side. "What did you do?" his co-counsel said, looking at him with a frown.

James stayed silent. He was certain that if he responded to Willis, the man would respond with something that would make James even more angry- and he had already expended his limit.

"I think," Willis said suddenly, leaning in conspiratorially, "I think you made 'em _mad_."

"Yeah, no shit, Willis. Now come on, we have to catch up- otherwise we'll be late as Black Friday shoppers on Saturday. Grab the brief, too, or else we'll be thrown out of court."

Willis grabbed the brief and sprinted after him, heaving great breaths as he did so. He grabbed James' shoulder and bent down slightly to James' line of sight.

"You know Black Friday shoppers never come on Saturdays, right?"

"That's not my point, Willis. Now come on."

Willis groaned and followed James into the High Court of Tokyo.

* * *

At least the courtroom was _big_.

Japanese courtrooms were renowned throughout the legal community- at least, those who had been to Japan or had some knowledge of how the country's system worked. Courtrooms in Japan were small things, barely one-half the size of a typical American court. Although there were some exceptions- namely the Higher Courts and the Supreme Court- Japan's legal workings were carried out in tiny rooms. Tiny by American standards, at least.

Another interesting fact that nabbed at James every time was that Japanese courts had _three_ judges. When he had learned that for the first time, he almost threw up. _Three judges?_ he had shouted, to Claire's consternation, _three fucking judges?_ At least in cases of this caliber there was no jury. All James had to do was to convince the three men up on the bench to lean his way, and Rias and her peerage would be released from the fact of certain death.

The third, and perhaps the most embarrassing thing that James was thinking of was the fact that court hadn't started yet, which meant that all his yelling earlier was for nothing. They were actually _early_ for the first session of this trial.

The benches of the prosecution were facing each other, arrayed on opposite sides of the courtroom. The one facing him was empty- which was why court hadn't started yet. Rainier Landon had yet to send its troops to the battleground.

He checked his watch. It was 7:49 AM, meaning that there were eleven minutes left until the trial started.

Yet Rainier Landon had still not sent its delegates, which was strange. Rainier Landon was a professional firm, an international giant. The fact that its hotshot lawyers weren't here yet said something about their character and the way they viewed the case as a whole.

He sat at the center of the defense table, with Willis on his left and Rias on his right. Seated next to Willis were Issei, Asia, Koneko, and Akeno; next to Rias sat Xenovia, Irina, and Kiba. They all looked uncomfortable- except for Willis, who was fiddling with his shoelaces.

" _Willis_ ," James hissed, " _what the hell are you doing?_ "

" _Tying my shoes!_ " replied Willis hurriedly. " _They untied themselves as we were all walking in!_ "

" _We aren't walking anywhere for the next few hours! Get your head up from under the table, you dumbass!_ "

" _Okay..._ " said Willis, sticking his head back up. He looked around and started fidgeting with the latches of his briefcase, which made some rather loud sounds as it echoed through the silence of the courtroom. To James' luck, neither of the three judges noticed, as they were too busy sorting through paperwork.

James rolled his eyes and waited.

Minutes passed. The judges kept doing their paperwork, and the numerous court observers kept sneaking numerous glances at the defense table, as if they weren't getting that these beautiful beings that they were ogling were actually devils. James wanted to agree with them, but he couldn't very well break the silence and seem awkward like Willis usually was, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Umm... Mr. Bradley?" Asia asked timidly.

"Yes?"

"My knee is bleeding again."

Fuck.

James motioned to Willis. "Go. Get some towels from the bathroom."

Willis stood up, and the judge sitting in front raised an eyebrow. James covered for him with a "Err... Your Honor, one of my clients is suffering a minor injury. May the Court grant my co-counsel Willis Japhon to go get some paper towels in an attempt to-"

"Granted," the judge said, waving his hand dismissively. "Go and get your supplies."

Willis ran out of the room as if he was glad to get out of there, which he most likely was.

James sighed and hoped that he would get back soon enough.

* * *

Willis Japhon was more than glad to get out of the seriousness of the courtroom.

 _Everyone is so serious_ , he thought to himself as he turned corners. Thank goodness for signs! Although they were in unreadable Japanese characters, the unmistakable sign of a unisex bathroom was there, so he turned the corner to the sign.

Unfortunately he wasn't the only one to attempt to use the bathroom.

A woman stood there. She stood at the bathroom with an impatient gait, tapping her high-heeled shoes on the ground with in an almost melodic beat as she waited for whoever was in the bathroom.

"Hey," said Willis, "you waiting for the bathroom?"

The woman turned around to face him, and Willis' breath was taken away. Boy, was she _beautiful_!

Long, midnight-black hair cascaded down to her waist, and twinkling violet eyes met his own. Her skin was tan- not extremely tan, but rather in the range of somewhat tan. She wore a white blouse and black miniskirt with the aforementioned black heels, which reminded him of a secretary's outfit- not the weird kind in movies, but a legitimate secretary. It spoke of efficiency combined with a sense of minimalist fashion, which was really good for secretaries.

"Well, yes..." said the woman in perfect English. "This person is taking a long time."

As if on cue the toilet flushed from inside the bathroom.

"Well, er..." said Willis, thoughts of getting paper towels for Asia washed away, "yes, they are!"

The woman moved closer to him, her arms pivoting gently as she walked over to him. "Well, why are you in the High Court?" she asked in a low tone that was almost certainly seductive. A small playful smile was etched on her face as she moved even closer to him. Even though he was at least five inches taller than her, the woman had something about her that seemed to make her taller than she really was.

"Oh, well, just.. er... doing legal business. What're you doing here?"

"Reasons," the woman muttered, all sense of seductiveness dropped. Willis was slightly disappointed- the pretense had made him feel all tingly inside, like how he anticipated the release of the next installment of _Counter Strike_. He liked that feeling. And so he resolved to talk more to this woman.

"So, uh, reasons?" he said, chuckling nervously.

"Reasons," said the woman, and now the smile returned to her face. "There are many reasons, sir, and evidently your business is apparently too important for me to know. So I think I'll not tell you mine."

Willis debated whether or not he should tell her about his newfound legal role. _After all,_ he reasoned, _the press is going to know what's going on anyway, so what's the harm if one nice lady knows before? Besides, there was no confidentiality order or anything like that._

So he told her.

"I'm uh... legal co-counsel for the devil trial. You know, the one that's happening right now?"

"Oh? Is that so?" She didn't even speak once about the whole fact of devils existing. Maybe she thought it was some kind of strange company name. But then he decided not to elaborate. Like James always said, _don't ask, don't tell_.

Conversation between him and her suddenly ensued like a wildfire, and they talked about the fringe topics- _why are you here_ , _what's up with the High Court,_ and all that. It seemed all so natural, somehow, so natural, in fact, that when the occupant of the bathroom came out- a heavyset middle-aged man in a suit- the two of them took a good look at him and burst into unexplained laughter. The man gave them an ugly look, and left. When he left they burst into more laughter, laughter so hard that he felt his stomach give out gasps of pain, and he saw the woman double over in pained laughter, too. When they looked at each other's sorry states they burst into laughter again until they ended up on the floor, side by side, just laughing. About what, he could not tell. It was just that they were laughing like crazed hyenas about to spring on prey.

Eventually she went to use the bathroom, and when she came out, she gave him a load of paper towels, for he had explained about Asia's situation.

"So, uh, it was nice talking to you," she said, extending her hand out to him. "What's your name?"

"Uh... Willis Japhon." Something now burned within him. It was not desire, but it was pretty darn close. It called out to him to do the thing that he had not done for the extent of his life- the one thing that his parents had forbidden him to do. That had had an affect on him through college, so that he had remained unceremoniously celibate. He had been there at Claire and James' numerous meetings, and he had just sat there, envisioning romance for himself. But no woman had before even come close to him as a possible romantic interest- until now.

And yes, it was awkward, because they'd only laughed together about who knew what, and talked about the most banal of things, but still, it was a beginning. In fact, if this somehow was being played on Broadway somewhere, and he was somehow in the audience, he would be the first to condemn it as "improbable fiction." Yes, the line from _Twelfth Night_ was very applicable to this situation.

Yet he'd never asked a woman out before, because there was nothing to connect him with any woman- until now. Now there was something- though it was marginal, it still was something. And so, playing on that _something_ , Willis jumped forward with the big question.

"Will you.. uh... go... on... a... date... with me?"

At this the woman grew surprised. Surprised, which then gave way to a look he could not identify, before she firmly grasped his hand and shook it.

"Well, this was one interesting ten minutes," said the woman. "But to answer your question..."

 _Come on_ , Willis yearned, _please, it's only my first time asking someone out on a date, please-_

"... yes"

Willis wanted to shout, to jump, to cry in joy and happiness. But he remarkably held himself, and clutched the paper towels even closer. "Ummm... I should probably give you my number." He took out his phone and wrote down the number on a spare piece of paper he found in his wallet, and gave it to her.

"May I have a piece of paper?" the woman asked, and he gave her another spare piece that he found in his wallet. She wrote down her number, too, and gave it to him.

"So, uh, where should we meet?"

"I know a place in downtown Tokyo. It's called the Narisawa, and it's a Michelin two-star restaurant, which means that the place is pretty damn good. Wanna meet there, tomorrow night, 7 PM?"

"Uh, sure!" he said. He could not believe his luck. But then, he rationalized, if devils could exist, then fateful encounters could as well.

"See ya then," said the woman, winking at him before turning to walk off, slip of paper in hand.

"Wait!" Willis called after her. She stopped and turned around, a smile appearing on her face as soon as she looked back at him. "Yes?" she said.

"I never got the chance to learn your name!"

"Oh, that. Well, you should always ask a woman's name, Willis-"

"Umm... the _s_ is pronounced in my name."

"Okay, then," the woman said, and now she walked back to him, getting closer and closer to him, until her face was only a few inches away from his own. She cupped his chin with her finger, and he could smell her scent- a pleasant, earthy odor that reminded him greatly of petrichor, the smell of dry dirt newly soaked with rainfall. It was a strange smell to associate with a woman, but still it reminded him of that.

"My name is Yuuma Amano."

Then she walked away into the twisting hallways, leaving Willis alone to his musings- and, as recent developments would have it- his ecstatic glory at landing a date on his first-ever try.

* * *

It was 7:58.

 _What the fuck is taking Willis so long?_ James thought to himself. Knowing the moron, he had probably found the urge to take the world's longest dump or repeatedly flush the toilet over and over again. Asia was bleeding pitifully- not terribly so, but still pain was etched on the girl's face as she desperately attempted to remain stoic.

Then a figure came running into the courtroom, with dress shoes making a soft _clip-clop_ which cut like a knife through the silence of the courtroom. It was, of course, Willis, with his tan suit. A large wad of paper towels was in his hands, and with a swift motion he bent down and began wrapping them expertly around Asia's wounded leg.

 _Didn't know he was an expert at tying things_ , thought James, before he hissed, "Get your ass over here!"

"Yah," said Willis as he rushed behind the table to take his place hurriedly at James' side.

"You idiot," James hissed, "what in the Sam Hill took you so fucking long?"

"I got a date!" the man said excitedly.

A date for Willis Japhon sounded almost improbable. Yet in a world where devils were real- and happened to be sitting right next to him in a perfect and orderly court of law- anything could fucking happen, including someone willing to go on a date with Willis Japhon.

Yet that wasn't really on James' mind right now. What was on his mind was the fact that the attorneys representing the government had not arrived yet. It was exactly 7:59, with twenty seconds to go, and still Rainier Landon's representatives had not arrived.

Issei Hyoudou voiced James' concerns when the boy leaned his head over and whispered in a hush to James, "Mr. Bradley, why isn't the opposing side here yet?"

That question was echoed throughout the table, with Irina and Asia asking the same question in one different form or another. Noticeably, everyone else, even Willis, didn't lend their voices to the storm.

"Shut up, all of you," James muttered. "We'll talk later when we're out of this courtroom. For now, glue your mouths and let me talk."

The conversation ceased, though he still felt all the pairs of eyes at the table gaze at him for answers that he could not give them.

It was at that moment that Rainier Landon's lawyers arrived on the courtroom.

He expected at least five. Rainier Landon had only sent three. One of them he recognized, because that one was his own brother, Joshua Bradley.

Joshua gave a perfunctory nod when he saw James, and sat down on the plaintiff's table, placing his suitcase in front of him with a loud clack. Beside him the other two sat, and James' mouth fell open in shock, because he recognized the lead counsel for the prosecution.

The lead counsel was Gerald Graham. Everyone on the Wall Street scene knew of Gerald Graham, and though he, James, did not work in that prestigious place, he had friends and family- namely Joshua- who worked there, or had worked there. And all of them spoke of the gloriousness of Gerald Graham.

A top graduate of Yale Law, the man had gone on to become one of Rainier Landon's earliest senior partners and reportedly earned a salary worth millions every year. Gerald Graham was not a front-line partner, no- he was said to prefer to sit back and assess the firm's finances along with a board of junior partners. The fact that Graham had roused himself from his cozy job to undertake this difficult task said volumes about what Rainier Landon was betting on the case. Gerald Graham was fifty-five, yet they said that he still seemed young- the long, ruddy blond hair that adorned his scalp was proof of that. He wore horn-rimmed glasses which were perched almost sagely on the bridge of his nose, which only helped to accentuate his piercing glare as he eyed each one of the devils before finally meeting James' gaze.

James grunted to conceal his abject fear at the moment. _Be strong for your clients_ was the accepted norm for lawyers, and James was determined not to let a legend like Gerald Graham unsettle him.

Willis, on the other hand, was absolutely ecstatic. He wore a wide grin on his face as he turned to James. "It's Gerald Graham!" Willis said excitedly. "Wow. If he's going against us..."

"Yeah," whispered James, "he's a legend, alright."

Rias and the rest of her companions were staring at James intensely, probably trying to gauge his reaction to the arrival of the plaintiff's counsel.

Sitting on Gerald's right was a woman with shoulder-length black hair adorned with bright-pink highlights, currently filing her fingernails. Her hair was somewhat strange- though it was long, the ends of her hair were stylishly curled, which annoyed James because he had never seen such a hairstyle before. She, too, wore horn-rimmed glasses, and a navy-blue blazer with golden buttons. The woman also had an identically-colored miniskirt, which extended to her knees. Her navy-blue clothing contrasted sharply with Gerald and Joshua's regular blue suits, and his own light blue suit.

"It seems like everyone is wearing blue today, doesn't it, Mr. Bradley?" said Asia from where she sat.

"Yes, it does."

Gerald stood up from where he sat, and walked over to the defense table with long, sloping steps. James nodded to Rias, and together the two of them stood up to greet Gerald.

James went first. "James Bradley, counsel for the defense."

"Gerald Graham," said Gerald in a deep, baritone voice. He extended a hand for James to shake. "Pleased to meet you, James. Wall Street has heard much about you."

"Likewise," James said, shaking Gerald's hand.

Turning to Rias, he bowed slightly before speaking in almost flawless Japanese, "How do you do, ah... _Great Mistress_?"

"Great Mistress?" Rias replied back in English. "Such a title is not my preferred _nom de guerre_ here, though it might be appropriate in the Underworld. I believe that _Rias_ or _Miss Gremory_ would be appropriate."

"Very well." Gerald said. He did not shake Rias' hand, nor did she attempt to shake his. Turning to James, he extended a hand in his compatriots' direction. They were currently sorting through what looked to be their brief. "Allow me to introduce to you my co-counsel, James. I believe you already know your own brother."

"Of course," said James, smiling slightly.

"And that is Heather Huynh, a promising senior associate at the firm. She went to Syracuse Law, has six years of trial experience. Marvelous woman, and a good attorney, too, if I must say so myself."

Heather simply grunted in response, before continuing to file away at her nails, as if she had not a care in the world.

James turned towards the defense table. "The defense is heavily populated, as you can see. But there's my co-counsel Willis Japhon," James said, and for once Willis was doing something normal- that is, he was taking notes on a legal pad. Taking notes on _what_ , James could not tell, but at least he wasn't making silly faces or telling people about his latest _Call of Duty_ killcount.

"Well then," said Gerald, before turning to the judges, "May it please the court to start when it is convenient?"

"We will start in a few minutes," said the lead judge as a way of responding.

James, Rias, and Gerald promptly returned to their separate tables, pulled out their chairs from where they had been tucked neatly underneath the tables, and waited.

* * *

 _Author's Note: And so, another chapter. I decided to split this into two because the arraignment will take a long time for me to write, and for you, the reader, to read, and I learned my lesson after having a 12k-word chapter as the first chapter. So until then, thanks to those of you who have favorited, followed, or simply read up to this author's note. Good luck out there finding good fanfiction to read!_


	8. Courtroom Confrontation, Part the Second

James hated arbitrary delays.

There was such a delay right now.

The lawyers and their associates had been gathered- James and his entourage on one side, and Gerald and his assistants on the other. The few observers that were there looked on with interest. The bailiff in the corner stood with his gun and bat, ready to spring into action at the slightest offensive move, while the court reporter looked apprehensive as she prepared to type on her stenotype.

Everyone was ready- except for the judges. The three men were still sorting through some paperwork, and it was getting awfully tense in the courtroom. Twice James caught Joshua staring at him with a _help me_ expression, and he also received a hateful glance from Heather, which was at once new and old. He had expected hateful glances, words, and other things of that vein, but not from an opposing lawyer, especially Rainier Landon. Their attorneys were reputed to be steeped in professionalism and ethic. And yet the woman was giving him a look that indicated she wanted to brutally murder him.

Finally the judges finished doing whatever they were doing, and turned their heads towards the front of the courtroom, where everyone else was sitting and waiting for their judgement. The lead judge looked at each lawyer with a stern gaze before speaking.

"I am Judge Yamamoto Ichiro," said the judge, "and I will be the presiding judge for this trial. These are my colleagues Kazunari Takashi and Otonashi Honda."

The two associate judges nodded to acknowledge their introductions, before stilling themselves to let Yamamoto continue onward with his speech.

"In any case, let us be quick and dispense with trivialities. Have the parties introduced themselves to each other yet?"

"We have," Gerald intoned formally, while James gave a curt nod to indicate that he had done so.

"Good," said Yamamoto. "Therefore, let the records show that James Bradley nodded to confirm that he has agreed to start. Now, let us formally start the record with that, and therefore this arraignment. As the plaintiff's counsel, Mr. Graham, you may start whenever you are ready."

Gerald stood up promptly and gazed around the room. James felt the older man's stare wander around once more on the defense table before he decided to clear his throat and speak.

"I, Gerald Jefferson Graham, am counsel for the plaintiff, which is in this case the Japanese government. On the day of August 12, 2012, Rias Gremory and her associates committed a grievous crime against the Japanese government, killing two hundred and fifty seven soldiers that had been sent to apprehend them. Originally, two hundred soldiers were ordered to enter their base of operations to scout and apprehend the group. But the school was empty, so the soldiers pulled out. As they were retreating, however, Rias Gremory and her associates sprung on them, attacking with brutal efficiency . They killed all two hundred men there, and I might add that that black-haired girl over there- yes, the one with the orange hair tie, remorselessly crushed one of the wounded soldiers' face with her _shoe_. In addition to this, the teenagers that are present have killed many of those soldiers in various fashions. These deaths were not quick and easy, no. That blue-haired girl over there, yes, the short-haired one-"

"I have a name, you know," Xenovia growled. "It's Xenovia Qu-"

"Order in the court!" Judge Yamamoto shouted, smashing his gavel onto the bench. Remarkably Xenovia did not seem startled in the slightest. She merely looked at the judge with apathy before turning back to stare at Gerald, who was in turn staring hard at her with what seemed to be hate.

"Fine, then," said Gerald. "Anyway, _Xenovia_ destroyed six tanks with a sword that is currently being studied in classified areas. When reinforcements pried open the tanks- many of which had their hatches fused together by heat I must add- the crews were found dead inside. Their corpses were unrecognizable. They had been fried to death, their organs liquefied and their bones fractured in a thousand places. And worse, they had undergone this horrifying process while still _alive_."

Xenovia's stone-cold face did not waver once underneath the storm that Gerald was unleashing.

Gerald handed a wad of photographs to the judges, who took them and looked at them. He then started to continue with his tirade.

"And you see that boy over there, the one with brown hair? He had some kind of crimson gauntlet that glowed with power, and many of Japan's bravest fell to its bite. And it was not a quick and painless death. It was a slow and brutal death that they bore-"

"Objection!" James said, standing up. "Exaggeration of fact!" he shouted, as a means of actually stating what he meant to say. It was definitely far quicker than stating to the court that Gerald was filling the simple truth with insidious pathos. Pathos was a thing that often appealed to whoever got to decide the case's outcome. Done correctly, it could sway the hardest judge or jury and make even the accused doubt their own stance on the subject. James had to hand it to his rival- Gerald was _good_. Willis would probably be commenting left and right about that had he been able to speak Japanese.

"Your Honor, that is not the case!" James said, as calmly as he could. "Hyoudou Issei's weapon was merely a kind of gauntlet that hardened his punches. And there is the notion of whether this was an unprovoked attack or not. Yes, my client and her peerage disobeyed government orders, but they have _every right_ to defend themselves if they feel threatened! How would you feel if two hundred men in black with assault rifles attempted to-"

"Objection!" Gerald fired back, on the exact same pretense that James had used earlier- getting carried away with pathos. "There is no way you can place a judge in the situation of…of your clients. And also," said Gerald, calming down greatly, "would you please define what a _peerage_ is, James?"

For a moment James wondered if he should explain the concept of peerages. But then he realized that he himself had not entirely grasped the subject, so he turned to Rias, who nodded.

"I believe I can explain that subject, Your Honor," she said respectfully, even bowing to the judge.

"It seems that a testimony is in order," Judge Yamamoto said softly. Then he cleared his throat and said more clearly, "Court clerk! Swear in the accused!"

A somewhat disheveled court clerk walked briskly into the courtroom. The clerk then walked Rias over to the witness stand in the center of the room, where the man instructed her sternly to tell the truth and then promptly swore her in. James noted pleasantly that the man had given an affirmation, not a sworn oath to a deity, especially God. Given devilkind's aversion to the Man Upstairs, that was a good thing.

"I am Rias Gremory," said Rias, "daughter of Zeoticus Gremory and Venelana Bael, sister of the current Great Satan Lucifer. I am the current heiress of the Gremory clan, descended from the great Gremory, one of the original seventy-two great devil families comprising the elite of the Underworld. . The Great War between Heaven, the Fallen Angels, and the Underworld left many scars on all the factions, and also your humanity as well. I was only born nineteen years ago, but I can tell you that both human World Wars and the ensuing Cold War were at least partly caused by advents loyal to Heaven and the Underworld. The Fallen prefer to remain neutral after their losses during the Great War."

"Objection," said Gerald, more softly this time. "Although this is of interest, this is not really that relevant."

"Sustained," said the judge. "Keep your testimony to the point, Miss Gremory."

Rias plowed on, unfazed. "The Great War depopulated all three factions greatly. In the Underworld, the Great Satan Ajuka Beelzebub created a system known as Evil Pieces to help replenish the numbers of devils after the war. Evil Pieces look like human chess pieces and are typically given in sets of fifteen to high-class devils like me." She buried her hand deep in her dress pocket before producing a red rook chess piece. "The fifteen pieces go as follows- one Queen, two Rooks, two Bishops, two Knights, and eight pawns, excluding the sixteenth King piece which signifies a high-class devil's power. Each piece grants its own power unto the reincarnated devil. Rooks gain superhuman strength and endurance, yet suffer the drawback of having extremely low speed." She pocketed the Rook and took out a red knight piece, waving it for all to see. "Knights, on the other hand, gain superhuman speed but have low endurance or strength. Disable their legs, and they are virtually powerless." Now Rias took out a bishop piece. "Bishops gain enhanced magical power, which they can use to perform a variety of spells. However this taxes them greatly, so they must rest after casting a variety of spells." Rias pocketed the bishop, and withdrew a Queen piece. "As the system is based on chess, it is logical that the Queen should be the most able and versatile of all the Evil Pieces. The Queen has all the strengths of a Rook, Bishop, and Knight, making it the most powerful and balanced piece." Now Rias crossed her arms underneath her breasts, and continued speaking. "Last, but definitely not least, the Pawn. The Pawn has no special powers, but, like in chess, can promote itself to either Queen, Rook, Bishop, or Knight when entering enemy territory. For devils, enemy territory most often consists of churches, because that is where Heaven's territory is located." This time she did not withdraw any Pawn pieces.

"So," said Gerald loudly as he checked his notes. He was shaking his head as if he had just been roused out of sleep. "You say that you've been given two of each Evil Piece, excluding Queens and Pawns. Now, why is it that you've only shown one of each? Have you got the others, or are you somehow missing them?"

"Indeed, I am missing a substantial amount of my Evil Pieces. But that is because I've already used them. Meet my peerage." Rias said, waving her hand at the defense table.

Gerald craned his head towards the defense table, where James was sitting. James, too, looked at the devils and wondered which one was which.

"Would you like an introduction?" said Rias courteously from up on the witness stand.

"No," Judge Yamamoto cut across in a brisk tone, "Counsel for the plaintiff, please hurry on with your questions, and do keep them to the point."

"What about the rest?" Gerald said, arching an eyebrow as he stopped from his furious note-taking. "Friends of yours? Someone else's peerage members?"

"Xenovia Quarta and Shidou Irina are, regrettably not, members of my peerage, or anyone's peerage in particular. They are merely… ah… _associates._ "

"Shouldn't you have seven more Pawns?" said Heather, her voice dripping with disgust. Like Gerald, she too, was scribbling furiously on her notepad. Yet it was clear in every word she spoke and in every movement she made, that she hated them, and would hate them until the trial ended. James made a note to himself to watch out for her.

"No, Miss Huynh," said Rias, "I used all eight of my pawns to reincarnate Hyoudou Issei into a Pawn."

"So, is he… _superpowered_ or something?"

"No. Merely that it shows that I care for him."

Over on the defense table, Asia blushed hotly when hearing this. James rolled his eyes, and craned his head in to listen.

Judge Yamamoto rapped his gavel lightly. "I believe that is it, then. Miss Gremory, you may step off the stand."

Rias nodded, and stepped off the stand, where she promptly took her seat next to James. She looked at him and whispered, " _I did alright, didn't I_?"

"You did alright," said James. _For a beginner_ , he wanted to add, but decided not to do that. He needed to boost morale here, and Rias' smooth testimony had indeed increased spirits. Already the table was looking more spirited and ready, with the exception of Xenovia, whose face was still stone-cold.

"Okay, people," James whispered to everyone at his table. "You saw Rias' testimony. Note how she was calm and collected and answered with gusto. If anyone asks you- most likely Mr. Graham over there- to go up on the stand, talk like there's no tomorrow."

"Agreed," resounded Asia, Irina, Xenovia, Kiba, Koneko, and Issei. Rias beamed with pride, while Akeno simply gave a peverted chuckle.

"Well, Mr. Bradley," said Akeno, "you're really getting into it, aren't you?"

"Come on, Miss Himejima," he whispered back. "it's like being a soldier- gotta instill bravery in your men- or in this case, _women_."

Gerald grunted, and cleared his throat before looking at the judge. Judge Yamamoto nodded, and Gerald began to speak at the sign of approval.

"As per the government of Japan's wishes, I formally accuse Rias Gremory, Himejima Akeno, Toujou Koneko, Asia Argento, Hyoudou Issei, Yuuto Kiba, Xenovia Quarta, and Shidou Irina of two hundred and fifty seven charges of murder. I also accuse them of disobeying orders of the Japanese government, and I also charge them with destruction of government property. Along with murder, the Japanese government has also lodged the complaint of 'cruel and unusual deaths' along with the charges of murder, which, of course, is-"

Judge Otonashi rapped his gavel. Unlike his presiding comrade Yamamoto, he instead began to confer with his fellow judges. James caught a few phrases here and there dealing with the legal definitions of _interpretation_ and _opinion_ , but not much else.

Judge Yamamoto rapped his own gavel, and addressed the courtroom: "Judge Otonashi has made an important point about the plaintiff's accusations. We have thus decided that the fact of 'cruel and unusual death' is a matter of interpretation subject to our scrutiny. We will review the reports and see if that accusation is fair. In the meanwhile, you are welcome to suspend that accusation."

Gerald grimaced, but did not let on further. "In that case, Your-"

"No," said Yamamoto, raising a hand, "I will do the honors." He looked at the defense table, and sighed before continuing.

"In light of the plaintiff's accusations, Miss Gremory, you and your associates have been accused of two-hundred and fifty-seven murders, as well as disobeying orders from the government of Japan. You are also accused with damaging six Type 90 main battle tanks beyond repair. Do you know how much a Type 90 battle tank costs to build?"

"No," Rias replied promptly. "How much do they cost, Your Honor?"

"That was a rhetorical question," said the judge, frowning slightly, before he continued speaking. "In any case, do you or do you not plead guilty to the accusations mentioned?"

In that moment every eye was glued to Rias Gremory, including James' own. Even Willis was staring at her, and why would he not be? These moments, when an accused debated whenever to accept the charges laid out against them, would prove to be one of the most crucial moments during any criminal trial. To accept them was to surrender your right to fight and face the full might of the law- which in this case would warrant certain death for all the people sitting at the defense table, _sans_ Willis and James. James was sure the guilt would have killed Willis as well. As for him, he would regret it and move on, but still he would ponder the waste of lives on that day, and feel sad about it.

As he sat there he thought about the McKinley trial, and suddenly realized that a similar situation was unfolding here. Sure, there was no way to disprove the fact that Rias and her associates had killed off so many soldiers with their powers, but they deserved representation.

Once, in law school, he had been going over his textbooks in an effort to study for an insurance exam, and in boredom he'd fished out _Criminal Law Procedure for the Paralegal._ And in the book, he'd found this one quote that was the watershed for him. It was the reason why he'd graduated law school as a criminal lawyer, and it was the reason why he took the job of representing society's wrongdoers. It went as follows-

" _There is no deed so foul that something couldn't be said for the guy; that's why there are lawyers._ "

And so he put all his energy and will into hoping that Rias Gremory did not accept the charges.

"No, I do not plead guilty," said Rias from where she sat next to him. She then locked eyes with him, and then whispered, "What do we do now?"

Up on the bench, the judge cleared his throat and rapped his gavel. The two associate judges looked on, complementing Yamamoto's piercing stare as it swept around the courtroom, ensnaring both the prosecution and the defense in its vicelike grip. The judge kept staring, until he suddenly broke off and began speaking once more.

"With that matter done, now, I believe we only have a few more matters to discuss. First, as this is an extraordinarily unorthodox case, given the fact that the defendant is not human, and that both counsel are foreigners, I am hereby imposing a gag order on both parties. Both you two, Mr. Graham and Mr. Bradley, will not speak of this case to the outside world. This goes for the rest of you out there and subsequently me and my fellow judges. This is a case of the highest order, and frankly, I'm surprised this is not being tried before the Supreme Court. As there is more than enough evidence to show that the defendant took the lives of two hundred and fifty seven men, there will be no need for a preliminary hearing. On that note, I hereby declare this session of court dismissed. Reporter, please cease the record."

And with that, court ceased for the day. Heather and Joshua automatically began packing their suitcases, while Willis did the same. James reached for his own, but he stopped when the judge shook his head from up on the bench.

"Counsel for both parties, I would like your presence in my chambers as soon as possible."

James grunted in response, while Willis scratched his head, since he didn't understand Japanese. "What did he say?" Willis whispered urgently, just as he predicted.

"He wants us, us and Gerald and Joshua and that Heather woman in his chambers ASAP," James replied gruffly.

He turned to his newfound clients, who were all looking at him as if they were expecting him to pull a rabbit out of a hat.

"Ummm..." said Asia, trailing off.

She nudged Rias gently, who smiled kindly in return at her servant, before turning to James with a grim look on her face.

"James Bradley," Rias said, "First, my entire peerage, as well as Shidou Irina and Xenovia Quarta, thanks you for your present services, and any that you will provide in the future. Secondly, there is a request that we humbly make to you in light of your selfless rep-"

"No need with the theatrics," said James, somewhat embarrassed by all the verbage that Rias was pouring on him, "Just tell me what you want. And yeah, I guess I accept your thanks."

"We do _not_ want to go to that prison again," Rias said affirmatively, turning to her peerage as she did so. "Right, everyone?"

"Yes, Buchou," said Rias' peerage in one voice. Irina and Xenovia simply nodded to add their weight to the blow.

"You do realize that it's a normal thing to go to prison, right?" James said, now annoyed. Everyone who was tried for criminal things had to go to prison, and apparently Rias Gremory and her devil friends did not realize that.

"We do," said Akeno sternly, which struck James as being somewhat out of character, since she had shown herself to be quite the seductive _femme fatale_. Yet she spoke with as much ladylike grace as her master, which caught James' ear and made him listen.

"But we are devils, and I personally do not trust the guards to hold back, even if we are placed in solitary confinement." said Akeno sternly. Then she smiled, and the mask of the _femme fatale_ slipped over her face once more.

"Oh, okay," said James. Now that he thought about it, the devils' concerns really did seem legitimate. After all, they _were_ , after all, a bunch of beautiful teenage girls in a prison teeming with men who had not seen women in a long, long while. Even if they were in solitary, the guards could still get to them, and who would say anything about what the guards did to them there? They weren't human, after all, and even in the women's prisons where they would most likely be placed, no one would defend them. Now he felt a responsibility to make sure that the complaint was placed before the judge.

He nodded, and smiled. "Alright. I'll bring it before the judge, although you've got to remember it's entirely up to him. And if I do succeed, you've got to have a place of residence ready on hand to live in, right?"

Rias nodded. "I have just the place in mind."

James nodded, and realized that he was doing a lot of nodding, so he grabbed Willis' hand. "Come on, old boy, we're going in there," he muttered in English.

"Where do we go now?" Asia called after him.

"Get one of the aides to show you and your friends to the lobby," James called over his back as he walked briskly away, "And stay there until I return with news. Got it?"

"Okay!" he heard the girl say enthusiastically. And with that Asia and her friends withdrew out of the courtroom, their footsteps echoing through the now empty courtroom.

* * *

The judge's chambers were large and spacious, resembling its American counterpart for once. Large mahogany walls framed its borders, and a neatly organized bookcase was set in the corner. Willis had made his way there and was currently reading the only English-language book in that collection- _Hirohito and the Making of Modern Japan_. The judge was probably a pro-monarchist, as was much of the current Japanese government, and it made sense to own such a book.

James sat in front of the judge's currently empty desk, next to Gerald. Heather and Joshua stood in the corner next to the door, the former with her arms crossed underneath her breasts, the latter doing the same with his chest. His brother looked somewhat apprehensive as they all waited for the judge to appear. An interpreter stood in the other corner for Willis. The judge had been incensed when he learned that Joshua was James' brother and that Willis couldn't speak Japanese, and had actually threatened- after court, of course- to throw him and Willis out of court. It had taken Judge Kazunari's stern speech to convince his fellow judge to keep them as counsel. He had silently mouthed a _thank-you_ at Kazunari, who seemed not to have gotten it as he left the courtroom. Otonashi had slunken off somewhere almost immediately after court was adjourned, for which James was rather thankful. He would rather deal with one judge than three.

The judge walked in, his face stormy, yet he wore a body posture that suggested he was feeling nothing of the sort. He sat down on the massive black office chair and spun around in an abrupt turn like a archetypal movie villain before turning to speak.

"So, are there any more _unexpected developments_ that I need to know of?" said the judge, glaring at Gerald and James angrily. James watched from the corner of his eye as the interpreter translated for Willis.

"No, Your Honor, at least from this end," said Gerald, wisely not looking at the judge.

"Well, Judge," said James, drumming his fingers on the table's surface, "my clients have requested as to not being held in prison."

"On what grounds?" the judge said, with a degree of mild annoyance in his voice.

"Your Honor, as they're devils, the prison is likely to learn of their status, and the guards as well. They fear that they could be discriminated against, as well as have...ah... _questionable_ acts performed upon them unwillingly. My clients feel that this would damage their morale and sense of well-being greatly."

"Fear is one thing... and rationality is another," said the judge. "I like the redhead's logic. Granted." he said swiftly. "If I may ask, where exactly does the demon plan to stay? And how do we have assurance that they won't go on like they did at their Kuoh Academy?"

"We don't, Your Honor," said James. "I plan to administer the Suppressant on them to suppress their powers, but I am willing to take full responsibility for anything that happens."

"The government is ultimately responsible for anything that happens, Bradley-san. But fine, I will take your word for it. Know that you yourself will be tried before a military tribunal if anything happens. And your brother in the White House will not be able to extradite you for it."

James wisely stayed silent.

Heather cleared her throat. "Your Honor, there is also the matter of actual... ah... _court_ things. We've established the fact that there is overwhelming evidence to convict Miss Gremory and her associates. I personally think that we shouldn't hold a preliminary hearing, since, like I said, there's too many dead bodies in the morgue. What we _do_ need to do is to set the dates for any pretrial conferences that must be held- and given that we are dealing with the supernatural here, discovery will be the most important matter. And again, I think that our friend in the corner has the advantage here. He has the demon client; he will be able to dredge up a lot of information on the matter."

The judge nodded. "You are correct, Miss Huynh, but the matter of setting dates is entirely up to me."

The Vietnamese woman frowned, before pulling out a small grey notebook from her breast pocket. "Since the three of us have no cases to do, I suggest that a date of-"

"Give me all your trial calendars," the judge said abruptly.

"Actually," said Gerald quietly, "Heather and I have a patent infringement case to work on. It was-"

"Does a _patent_ case have any weight against a government trial that could change _everything_? Get your priorities straight, Mr. Graham!" the judge growled, smashing his fist onto the table. "I don't care how you juggle your lives, but all of you had better get yourselves here by the twentieth of September for the pretrial conference, or I will be holding the missing person- or persons- in contempt of court. I _will_ throw you in jail!"

Willis gulped as the interpreter translated for him.

"Dismissed," the judge said, waving his hand at them. "Get out of my office."

As the five attorneys hastily packed their suitcases, the judge could be heard muttering "stupid Americans" over and over again.

"That was... _intense_ , to say the least," Heather muttered as they all hastily walked away, anxious to put as much distance as they could between them and the judge.

"Yeah, no kidding," Willis replied. "I can't even speak Japanese, but even a blind guy could tell he was angry."

"Speaking of which," said Joshua, "what day is it again?"

"Thirty-first of August," Gerald answered, checking his watch.

James was not participating in the rapid-fire conversation. He instead was pondering the effect that the judge had on them. Obviously the judge was pissed at all of them, which was both good and not good for all the most obvious reasons. That meant he would be unfavorable towards James, but also towards to the prosecution- no, _plaintiff,_ he had to remind himself. Yes, Gerald, Heather, and Joshua worked for the government in this case, but they were not prosecutors. They were simply the plaintiff's lawyers.

"So, uh, that's nearly a month," Heather muttered again. "A month of discovery and then some more after the pretrial conference, until he sets the trial date. Bradley, you're lucky."

James smiled. "Yeah, right. You're not the one dealing with devils."

"Devils?" Heather asked, an eyebrow arched quizzically. "I thought they were called demons."

"Nope. Apparently they like to be called devils. To call them demon is like calling a black guy a-"

"Yeah, I get it," said Heather, waving a hand at him. "Something to note when we next meet."

There was now a crossroads of sorts- a hallway branching off to the lobby, and a hallway branching off to another parking lot where Gerald, Heather, and Joshua supposedly had their cars. As for James and Willis, the lobby supposedly had a passage leading to where his Buick was parked. It took longer, but that was not the reason why he was headed to the lobby. Far from it, in fact.

"See you around, James," Joshua said, waving over his back.

"Likewise," echoed Heather.

"Until the twentieth of September," said Gerald. Then he turned back to look at James. "Take care of yourself, would you?"

"Yeah. See you around, Gerald," James said.

Gerald, Heather, and Joshua turned a few more corners and soon disappeared from sight.

James and Willis kept walking, and James was surprised. Most plaintiff's lawyers- actually, he faced prosecutors more than he fought fellow lawyers- were outright offensive to him, always accusing him of doing something wrong. The 'regular' lawyers looked down upon him for defending criminals, and the prosecutors outright despised him for it. He had expected Gerald to think of him as nothing but trash- first, the man was an outright legend among the Eastern legal community, and secondly, what James did was general knowledge, since he was the President's brother. Yet the treatment he received was nothing short of civil and actually outright _friendly_. Heather had been a bit more antagonistic with her hate-filled tone whenever she spoke, but still managed to receive him courteously. And Joshua was, well, _Joshua_. The man had never found it in himself to insult James, regarding all that James had done for him when they were younger. All in all, it was a friendly conversation between lawyers, and he sighed in pleasure- this was what practicing law used to be like back in the golden days, though he had not been around for said golden days. All he had was hearsay from older veterans of the battlefront, and who could trust them and their exaggerations?

Willis smiled. "Gerald Graham, a living legend. One of the richest and most competent American attorneys to date, and yet he was so _nice_."

"Yeah, me too, Willis," James said. They entered the lobby, where Rias and her peerage were sitting around on waiting chairs, bored to death.

"I trust it went well?" Rias said, standing to greet James with a solid handshake.

"Without a hitch," he replied, and at this the peerage and the two exorcists breathed a collective sigh of relief, to James' general consternation.

"Prison wasn't _that_ bad, was it?"

"Trust us when we say so," said Koneko in such a low voice that he had to strain to hear her.

He had not known them for a long time, but already they were reminding him of a hive mind.

"So," said James, "any idea of where to stay? I don't want to hear that I just confronted the wrath of a Japanese High Court judge for nothing."

"Trust me," said Rias, smiling, "I know _just_ the place."

"Good, because it's 9:00 in Japanese Standard Time. I need to get used to the sleep schedule."

* * *

 _Author's Note_ _: And with that, another chapter finished. I hope you enjoyed, and I would love to hear feedback from you guys ( which means reviews ). Because we all need that opinion to keep us going. With that in mind, happy New Year's and the best of luck finding good stuff to read on !_


	9. Cooldown

James' news feed was going to crap.

At precisely 4:30 in the morning, he had been jolted awake by the rapid-fire responses of his phone, signaling the publishing of various news articles. He had grabbed the thing and watched in outright horror as his phone's screen was absolutely swarmed with notifications. ABC, NBC, CBS, BBC, even Russia's very own RT, for crying out loud. Of course, it was something to be expected, since he had downloaded all those news apps on the App Store to get an edge over those who relied on one single news app. James had downloaded them all because each news platform offered a slightly different perspective on world news, and besides, they helped him keep track of anything that he could jump in and sue for. Car accidents, some insurance fraud- most of that was reported on the news, and subsequently he found that he could make a buck from that.

But this? This was on an unprecedented level.

It was currently 6:03 AM, and he'd spent the last two hours trying to perform the exhaustive task of checking every single news update and article that had popped up on the vast expanses of the Internet. In addition, his online mailbox was absolutely inundated with thousands upon thousands of emails. Most of it had been transferred to the spam, but there were several urgent emails from his firm employees, most prominently his main go-to man, Max Steiner. Actually, no they weren't urgent. There was nothing that the other attorneys who worked for him and Willis could do about it, but he appreciated their support. From the office receptionist, Sybil, he received an email expressing support and gratitude. From the other lawyers he got varied responses, with the one from his oldest employee, Max Steiner, being somewhat troublesome. Since the man was an ardent Catholic, he was expressing his disgust that James and Willis had decided to represent devils in their trial. But he hadn't threatened to leave the firm, which was good. No one, had in fact, threatened to leave. In fact, Robert Smith, the attorney in his firm who handled car accidents, had actually sent an email jokingly asking for a raise.

He got an email from Tomoshi as well, stating that he was extremely sorry for not showing up to the initial arraignment, and had clarified the error to the judge. Judge Yamamoto had apparently also fined Tomoshi and James the equivalent of five thousand U.S. dollars, which James had not been aware of until now. He supposed he would have to get the check FedExed by tomorrow, but at least they were now in business.

World news was, well, somewhat convoluted. The Vatican had, for once, given a straight answer- they didn't deny the existence of supernaturals, but they had declined to speak about it.

There were also major responses from other religious and extremist groups, most notably the Church of Satan, the Islamic State, the Taliban and Al-qaeda, the Unification Church, and others, but he did not pay attention to their statements much. He noted that the Buddhists and Hindus remained somewhat passive to this, while large gatherings of Christians had taken to the streets, parading that their faith was the True Faith and that the angels would smile down upon them. In Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Iran, and other Islamic countries, Muslims were doing pretty tmuch the same.

Up in the levels of government, the world's countries had taken a somewhat pacifist approach, rather like the Buddhists. Jeffrey had apparently pushed for an emergency meeting of the United Nations, but not much else was known. The European Union's stance on the matter was still unknown, as was the Russian and Chinese view. Supposedly the European Parliament was convening, and the Russian Federal Assembly and the Chinese Politburo were reported to be doing the exact same thing. All across the world, countries' parliaments were convening, with the exception of the Japanese. He'd gotten a stray article from WikiLeaks in which the authors of that elusive website stated that the Japanese had known about the existence of supernatural beings for a long, long time; that only until now had they chosen to take action with their powerful Suppressant, which didn't make much sense to James. _If the Japanese knew what was going on_ , he reasoned, _then why wouldn't they_?

Oh. He was such a dumbass sometimes, like the clients he had to protect.

The Suppressant was probably being tested during that time, and now that holy bullets were a thing, the Japanese must've thought it was the perfect time to strike. It was a theory, but still one that probably made sense.

All this thinking and analyzing made him realize that he needed a coffee.

James got out of bed and looked around the small, simple room which he had chosen. The floor was simple and oaken, and the bed was a simple, modernist-looking design. A huge desk with at least ten small cabinets stood in front of the bed, where he'd stashed all his legal materials. A pencil and pen lay on the desk, just waiting to be used.

He had to hand it to Rias- having a mansion or two on hand did help when you needed a somewhat long-term place to stay.

James turned to leave, when a swishing noise like the whispering of the wind filled the room. Cold filled his being, and the paper on his desk fluttered briefly before resting down on the desk. By the time that happened, the wind-like noise had stopped.

He considered his options. Rias and company were but a few doors down, and Willis had taken the attic above. But what use could they be when whatever had manifested behind him could probably kill, maim, or possess him in an instant. His revolver lay in the top drawer of the bedside cabinet, but he doubted he could reach it before whatever was behind him could kill him.

Faced with only one option, he turned to face the beast, whatever it ever it was, and was moderately stunned to find himself face-to-face with a beautiful, black-haired, almost feline young woman.

Large black ears stuck out from her head, and yellow, feline-like eyes stared back to meet his own. Wreathed around her shoulders was a black kimono outlined with red. Yellow orbs hung from her sides, and the kimono split to reveal the woman's legs, enticing and very pale. Her large breasts strained through her kimono, almost ready to break free of their cloth restraints.

"Who... are you?" James stuttered out, trying to keep his feelings of arousal to a minimum.

"I am someone you not need know. But you can call me Kuroka." said the feline woman in accented English. She walked towards him, her feet placed in very high sandals. She was shorter than him, yet she managed to give the impression that she was taller, or at least as tall, as him. She walked towards him with a lilting smile on her face, a smile that reminded him greatly of Akeno Himejima's playful grin.

"Who are you, and why are you here?" James growled, balling his fists, and facing the cat-woman. "What do you want from me?"

"A very clichéd response, but effective," Kuroka said, her grin extending even wider, until it was a full, toothy, and very fanged grin.

"Effective? I belive that I said, _what do you want from me_?"

"I believe there is a girl named Koneko in this mansion, part of the peerage of Rias Gremory, yes?"

"Yeah…." James said, arching an eyebrow. "What do you want with her?"

"Is she safe?" the woman asked.

"Safe? Well, as of the moment, she is, but that might change."

"Change?" said Kuroka. The calm tone remained ever constant and unwavering, but the eyes did not. The pupils narrowed, and James got the impression that venom would be dripping from her eyes, if that was possible. James decided that it would be best if he tried to defuse the situation.

"By change, I meant improve. I'm assuming you're part of the elusive supernatural community- the Three Factions, I might call it?"

Kuroka remained silent, but James felt that the silence indicated a yes.

So he continued. "News must be getting out. The human powers are in uproar. Might your Three Factions be in the same, paralyzing state?"

Kuroka's eyes narrowed. "What have you done to Koneko?" she asked, with a threatening overtone in her voice, all trace of calm now washed away.

"Nothing…. much."

In a moment, Kuroka had seemed to disappear- almost vanish into thin air. But in the next, he felt claws dig into his shoulders, cut through his thin pajamas and embed themselves in the flesh of his shoulders; felt himself being pushed at near breakneck speed until he was against the wall, pinned by Kuroka's surprisingly strong grip.

"What have you _done_?" Kuroka hissed at him, the fangs of her teeth exacerbating in that moment, until they became as noticeable as the sharp canines of... well... a _cat_. It was very surprising to see something like this- to see a woman, or what had once been human, or hell, maybe never even human in the first place, with such unhuman features.

"Okay, okay, I've done nothing!" James said, trying to hold up his hands. He found he couldn't, and so he settled for an angry, chagrined look- or at least, he hoped he was forming something of the sort. "Jeez, you supernaturals are always so aggressive, damn it!"

"She is safe, yes?" Kuroka said, retracting her claws into her hands and leaning off him, as if their previous confrontation had never happened.

"Yeah," James muttered, "And you're going to have to pay for this."

"Pay?" Kuroka said, cocking her head at him. "Pay? How could you, a puny, powerless human, force _me_ to pay?"

"Not _that_ kind of 'pay'," he muttered. "The medical kind of pay. You just caused me injury- dug your damned cat claws through my shoulders. How am I going to pay for this, huh? Can't very well say that a cat lady just randomly wanted to take a bite out of me. You got money? If you do, I'm billing you a hundred an hour for my medical expenses."

Of course, the process of getting someone to pay for one's medical injuries was a lot more complicated than that- he'd have to find out if this Kuroka woman had insurance, and especially if it was a full-coverage plan. That would take weeks, and weeks were something that he didn't have. He had to devote time to this trial that was going to brew, and charging this cat woman for it was the least of his worries.

"Fool," Kuroka muttered. "What kind of lawyer are you? You _can't_ make me pay for your medical coverage. You've got to have a full-coverage plan, and force them to pay for your injuries. You could potentially sue me over injuries, but I'll be long gone by then. Did you seriously think I am _that_ stupid just because I have a pretty face and ample breasts?"

That was a surprise. Up until now, the supernaturals that he had encountered were pretty ill-versed in human law. This lady, well, was different.

He bowed. "You should be a lawyer."

She _meowed_ at him, raising a hand up like one of those annoying Japanese ceramic cats that Claire kept around the house. "Where I work, knowing human law is a must."

Kuroka turned her back to him, and began walking slowly away. At the same time, a great circle of magic opened in front of her, filling the bedroom with the same swishing, cold-inducing noise that he had heard earlier.

"Where are you going?" James said, waving a hand in her direction.

"Away," said Kuroka. "You will not speak of this encounter to anyone, understand? As a lawyer, I trust that you will be able to keep secrets."

" _Secrets_ ," James muttered, but by the time he stood up, the circle had vanished, and Kuroka was gone.

 _Bloody supernaturals_ , he thought, and grabbed the doorknob which led out of the bedroom.

"This was one hell of a morning," he said, aloud to the empty air, before he started the long journey to the dining room, where Rias Gremory and her peerage were most undoubtedly waiting.

 _And Willis, too,_ he thought.

Crap.

* * *

Contrary to James Bradley's belief, Rias Gremory was still lying in her bedroom, and for once she wasn't enfolding Issei in her embrace. It had suddenly seemed prudent to her to do so, for some unexplicable reason. Yes, she'd kissed Issei that time, and that she felt that something in her heart was beginning to warm for her servant. But even the might of love had to make way for war, and this was war, alright. War against the Japanese government and what they might bring for her and her peerage. And in this war, Issei could not help her. Far from it. In this, he was only a pawn on her chessboard, like the others. In this game of war, James Bradley was her compatriot, her partner, her helper, but the one thing that she could not ascertain about him was where his loyalties lay. He claimed that he would help her, but some of his actions had been far from altruistic.

He was not the most reliable partner, that much Rias was certain of.

She slipped out of bed, and made a split-second choice of deciding what to wear. There were two options- the negligee, which could work, since it was her house. Her house, her rules. It would show the attorney that she had no fear of him; that she was capable of meeting him blow for blow- which she was- and that she did not fear his legal skills and tricks.

On the other hand, her choice to wear a negligee could also imply other things- salaciously indecent things, in fact. She knew that she wouldn't want to present such an image to him. She wanted an outfit that could command respect, and also show that she was not afraid of him.

Her eyes turned to her Kuoh Academy uniform.

 _It will have to do._

After dressing, she left her elegant bedroom and descended down the staircase in the middle of the mansion. For this occasion she'd also put on a watch- an expensive American-made Rolex, in fact. It had cost six thousand United States dollars, but with the wealth that her family had amassed over the centuries, six thousand U.S. dollars was a mere mote of dust on the tip of the iceberg.

It was exactly eight o'clock, which made Rias feel slightly warm inside- she'd always woken up at eight, to begin her schedule, and even with Kuoh Academy disbanded and evacuated to the Underworld, this showed that she could still keep her schedule.

Along the way she passed Kiba, who bowed slightly when he saw her.

"Buchou," said her Knight, "Good morning."

"Good morning, Yuuto-san," Rias said, returning the gesture. "Have you seen anyone else up and about?" she added as an afterthought.

"Only the lawyer," said Kiba, bowing again. "He got out of his room with some strange claw marks on his shoulder, and went to the kitchen, where he's currently sipping coffee and eating donuts."

Rias smiled and kept walking. The staircase opened into a large, almost oval-shaped room containing little more than a large, gold-framed portrait of the Gremory family crest. She gave it a little glance before walking through the gaping passageway in the room, which led to the dining room.

At the end of the long, quartz-embossed table, she found James Bradley strumming a guitar softly, hands caressing the instrument. The aforementioned coffee mug was placed in front of him, empty of drink. It sat on a small plate which had some kind of crumbs- probably that donut- scattered around the brim.

The sound of the music intensified, and she saw James close his eyes as he played, his hands now flying across the neck of the guitar. When he noticed her glance, he put the guitar down and looked at her with an expectant look, as if he was waiting for something.

"That hasn't been tuned in at least three years," Rias said, trying to make some small talk.

"Yeah, well, I tuned it." the lawyer said, grabbing the guitar by the neck and playing a relaxing tune with it.

"I didn't know you could play guitar," she said, taking a chair as well.

"Well, now you do," he said, placing the guitar down again.

Was this an attribute of lawyers? That they could engage in pointless small talk for hours without hitting on any major points. Like how they were going to defend against the Japanese government's relentless pursuit? That was a point that happened to be extremely important, and here James was, talking about _guitars_.

"I see you're thinking. Good." James said, from where he sat.

"So, the trial," Rias said, trying to discourage the pointless small talk. "I can see things went rather well yesterday."

" _Well_?" the attorney said, arching an eyebrow. "That damned idiot Tomoshi Itukumi didn't show up, and under normal procedure, that would've been more than enough to throw us out of court. But these are... _different_ circumstances."

"And?" Rias inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"Discovery commences now," the lawyer said with finality.

"Discovery? Isn't that the period where both sides attempt to find as much evidence as they can on the other's case?"

"Precisely," James replied, and he picked up the empty coffee mug and plate and disappeared into the large kitchen adjoining the dining room. Rias heard the sound of water running, and the squishy sounds of a plate- and a mug, too,- being washed. Then, quick as it came, the water stopped. The sound of porcelain being placed on the dish rack could be heard, and James walked back into the dining room.

"Actually," James said, as he took the same seat he had been sitting in when Rias first saw him, "discovery is when both parties obtain as much evidence from each other. They do it by requesting depositions, requesting documents, and so forth. Now, normally, it's really hard to get the Japanese to produce any documents, because the average American lawyer looking to get something from Japan doesn't have a Japanese law license, and isn't staying there exclusively for the trial. However, I have something the average American attorney doesn't have- an association, which allows me to practice law in Japan without most of those jumbled Japanese sovereignty issues on my ass, and the fact that this trial is of extraordinary substance also gives me substantial exceptions. Of course, I still have to follow Japanese law when conducting myself."

"Right," Rias said, "but don't the Japanese have a very strict interpretation of the Japanese-American Consular Convention, the 'Treaty,' as you Americans call it?"

"You know about that?" James said, arching an eyebrow.

Rias personally did not have a lot of knowledge about that particular treaty; however, she had heard her brother talking about it. Sirzechs' legal advisers had mentioned it to him once when they were talking about the legality of conducting operations in Japan and what they were to do if the humans had found out about that. Sirzechs had scoffed and waved them off, stating the rules of that treaty and how they, the Devils, "weren't Americans."

"Well, only that it's very strict and doesn't allow for a lot of things," she replied at last, shrugging.

"Miss Gremory, that's an understatement."

"Please, call me Rias," she said. "Continue."

"The Treaty was designed to prevent Japan from being taken advantage of by other countries- the States being one of them. But you're not a Japanese citizen, and besides, a court order has been sent out explicitly forbidding Underworld lawyers from representing you. The Japanese want this to be a strictly human affair."

"But that's…" Rias began to say, but she stopped. She could not find it in herself to continue. It was not cowardice, no. It was that she couldn't find the word to use for the situation. It wasn't racism, it wasn't speciesism, but it was still something pertaining to the subject of race.

"Racism," James muttered, "that's what it is. Coulda gotten a lawyer from Hell to represent you, but no, the Japanese have decided to keep this a human thing."

The lawyer then suddenly chuckled without warning, and Rias got the feeling that he was now talking to himself, not her.

"Bet they didn't expect me to come crawling out of the woodwork, eh, the squinty-eyed bastards!"

It was at this moment that everyone else chose to enter the dining room in one, big, inglorious group. Several mutters of 'Hello, President,' could be heard, and a neutral-sounding 'Rias' from both the two Church exorcists. Willis, the other American lawyer, was nowhere to be seen.

"Ah, President!" said Issei, yawning and stretching out his arms. "I see you've been up talking with Bradley-sensei! Wonder what it is that goes on in a lawyer's life..."

The American's demeanor suddenly changed. Alone with her, he had seemed almost peaceable- approachable, even. But in the sudden face of her peerage and the Church exorcists, he was suddenly a different person. His eyes sunk, his shoulders fell slack, and his mouth veered upward into a great scowl.

"None of your business, kid," James growled, before standing up. "Not yet, anyway. You'll be questioned eventually, interviewed and examined like a dead fish on a cook's table. But not yet. Until then, what your Buchou and I talk about stays between me and your Buchou. Got it?"

"No," Rias cut in, and she stood up, leveling a menacing glare at James. With her servants and the two Church exorcists behind her, plus the might of the Power of Destruction and the influence of the Gremory clan, she could feel the power she radiated, and she focused that onto James. _He must be taught who is the master here_ , she thought before

"He is my Pawn, and your client. Therefore, you shall treat him with the same respect as you do with me, or else you shall suffer the consequences of doing so. And I don't mean financial consequences. If you insult him, you will have my fury, and the wrath of everyone behind me."

"True," Akeno said from behind Rias. She could hear the flickering of electricity as Akeno stretched her hands out, hands crackling with power.

"Are you threatening me?!" James suddenly roared, slamming his fist down on the table. Rias didn't jump, and certainly no one else did, save Asia, but it was still surprising. "ARE YOU BLOODY _THREATENING_ ME?!"

"Yes," Rias said calmly as she could- which was very calmly, actually, with all the finesse and grace of a noblewoman. She continued to speak. "And I can threaten you all I like, because you can't do anything about it."

"Yes, I bloody _fucking_ can!" James roared again, slipping into his native tongue. She heard the brief rustling of weapons and arms being drawn as James marched up to her and pointed a threatening finger in her face like some kind of military drill sergeant. Perhaps he was trying to scare her. It wasn't working. He was only a little taller than Rias, and his rage seemed more petty to her than actually terrifying. Nevertheless, she still wanted to hear what he had to say.

Meanwhile the lawyer seemed to be struggling with himself. His eyes burned with anger, yet he held himself; his finger shaking as he struggled to contain whatever that was that he wanted to say. After a few minutes, his body relaxed, and the fight seemed to go out of him. He plopped down promptly on a chair, and put his head into his hands, sighing all the while.

"Goddamnit," he muttered, to the general consternation of Irina and Xenovia. He looked up at her and everyone else in the room, and slammed a fist onto the dining table, before he stopped to speak.

"You know what?" James said, leaning back with an exasperated sigh, "Let's put the past behind us, and look into the prospects of the oh-so- _bright_ future. In that case, can I get some background information?"

"Background information?" Akeno said, her _femme fatale_ manner broken by the discussion of serious topics. "I thought that Buchou already gave out what you needed during the initial meeting. Of course, I could be wrong..."

"Actually, no. What your master gave was a simplified version of history of your supernatural world. That didn't even broach the main part of this infernal case- how to prove that y'all were justified in ripping apart two-hundred-and-fifty-seven men."

"Technically, those men were fatally lacerated, dealt blunt trauma, electrocuted, torn to pieces, and generally disposed of, in a generally painful manner," Xenovia said from where she stood. "But it was worth it- those men would kill us if they could."

"Why don't we just all sit down?" James said suddenly, leaning back on his chair. "Standing around must be _so_ tiring.

Rias' peerage and the two Church exorcists took their seats, but all of them gave James uneasy stares. Rias was the only individual that did not maintain a terse stare, and for the sake of conversation she let it be so.

It was a long time before anyone spoke again, however, and no one was surprised when the lawyer took the chair.

"Everything needs justification, especially court cases. I need proof- cold, hard, evidence that showed that y'all were right in what you did. I don't approve, but if you believe you're justified in what you did, then I will stand by you, and fight for you with all the resources that I can muster."

Asia was the first to speak. "Mr. Bradley, we had no malice against the government! Really! Please believe us when we say so!"

Rias could not blame her Bishop. A girl with her disposition could not have much experience with the world, and to be faced with such a judgement...

"Please..." Asia said, her eyes brimming with tears. "I...I just want... to stay with Issei..."

The girl broke into muffled sobs, and Irina came to her side, placing a reassuring arm over the younger girl's shoulder.

"And I have a peerage to protect," Rias said, taking charge. She placed her hands on her hips and glared at James. "Lawyer, do you believe us now?"

"The Japanese don't care about what your motivations were," the American growled, and dismay fell on everyone's faces except Akeno. Yet, Rias could still swear her friend's face displayed a second's worth of dismay before returning to its normal state.

"But Judge Yamamoto does, and so do I. The government is intent on shooting you all and making a statement about it to a world that is just starting to believe that y'all exist. But Judge Yamamoto- he seemed gruff and a douche, alright, but he seems an ethical man. He will make sure that everything goes according to the laws that the Japs set down in their Constitution, and no Japanese conservative is going to mess around with this trial."

He smiled.

"That was just Judge Yamamoto. You've got me as well, and I hate to say it, but you've earned my belief. Make sure you keep it."

He then left the room, and quickly returned with an extremely thick legal pad, which he set on the table. He flipped through it, and random papers made their way out, fluttering to the floor. The lawyer paid them no mind as he flipped to the very bottom and flipped the rest of the apparently-used pages onto the table. Clicking a pen, he wrote something briefly on the top of the empty pages before turning to them with a pained scowl.

"Talk."

The dining room turned into a cacophony of voices as each devil- and human- tried to drown out each other's voice.

It was too much. Rias slapped her fist onto the table, and stood up, glaring each person in the eye.

"One at a time, please."

James grinned, and leveled the pen at her.

"You go first."

Rias sighed, and began to talk. She began to talk of her birth, and was quickly reprimanded by James and told to start from the moment that had started this whole mess. She began, alternatively, at the point in her life when she had first met Issei, and was mildly surprised that he didn't tell her to move farther ahead in the time stream.

So she talked. She talked about sensing the might of the Welsh Dragon, explaining the concept of the Two Heavenly Dragons to James as well, who merely nodded in acceptance and bade her to keep talking. She talked about Raynare, the fallen angel who had left Issei dying by the fountain, and she told how she had revived Issei, and they had gone to discover Asia, a prisoner of Raynare. She explained how they defeated Raynare, and how the Fallen escaped her punishment and was still currently at large. She talked about meeting the Church exorcists and subsequently the battle at Kuoh Academy, ending with her prison tale and subsequently ending at the point where she had first met James in her life- that time in the interrogation room.

From there, it was a seamless meld of stories. Irina and Xenovia related their tales of growing up in the Church, and Kiba augmented that with his horrifying tale of the Holy Sword Project, and how he had been the only one to survive and use the Sacred Gear, Sword Birth. Rias then explained the whole concept of Sacred Gears to the lawyer, who, again, merely nodded. Asia told her life story, and her abuse at the hands of Raynare, and her subsequent revival as a Devil, and her love of Issei, who blushed. Akeno did not say much, but merely added a fact here or there, or corrected a factual error. Issei told of fighting Raynare and how he had once loved the Fallen- only to see her kill him and leave him for dead.

"Jeez, this Raynare person must be pretty dangerous, eh?" James muttered, his brow creased in thought.

"She's still out there... somewhere," said Issei, looking out the now-blackened window, for night had come. The telling of stories had helped to hasten the passage of time, and a quick glance at the golden clock mounted on the wall told her that it was currently nine in the night, which meant that they had spent nearly twelve hours telling their combined stories.

"This...well...it's... _fascinating_ , to say the least," said James at last, for he had been mostly silent through the tale, only asking a question here or there. Mostly he had jotted notes down at a breakneck pace, and smiled or frowned at some of the facts.

He picked up the notepad and walked off, before coming back with empty hands.

"Thank you," he said, bowing in the Japanese way. "I thank all of you. This'll help... a lot. Now, has anyone seen Willis?"

Indeed, she hadn't seen the gangly, tall, and pretty foolish lawyer since yesterday. He had simply... _vanished._

James had returned with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. But as quickly as he set down the mugs, he stopped. His entire body froze, as if he was in great pain. He craned his head towards the kitchen window, which was currently black as night, as if Willis could be found out there, smiling dumbly and waving his arms wide.

"By any chance, you said that... this Raynare... her alias was _Yuuma_ _Amano_ , right?"

"Yes," said Issei. "That name... it still sears me, even to this day. I'd been so lucky to land that date, and yet..."

"Oh, _fuck_ ," James growled, and the lawyer's fists balled up.

"What?" Rias said. It certainly did sound serious.

James turned his head to her and the rest of her peerage, and now he wore a face of horror, like he had just seen a ghost. Indeed, his face was very pale.

"Willis went on a date... and the woman he went out with..."

He paused, and his face twisted in pain before he continued to speak.

"... was named Yuuma Amano."

* * *

Running outside was the dumbest thing he'd ever done, but he did it anyway. He'd ran outside to confirm if it was actually true, after he'd checked every inch of Willis' room. The results were bleak as the darkest hour of the Great Recession- Willis was gone, and so was James' Buick. The gate had been left open, meandering into the grassy plain in front of the large Gremory mansion. Magical sigils lay deactivated, glistening in the pale moonlight.

He looked up at the face of the mocking moon, and was surprised to see something obscure the moon's face for a few seconds, and then disappear.

It was definitely too large to be a bird, and too-low flying to be any plane, big or small.

As he wondered what it was, he saw the façade of the Gremory mansion break into glass shards, and he could hear the shrilling laugh of a woman- definitely one he did not know.

He turned towards the newly-damaged house, and one word was on his mind. It was a name- an elegant name, a powerful-sounding name, a name that could suit only one particular woman- no, an _angel_ that Rias and her group had encountered in the past. An angel that had been responsible for so much pain on Issei and Asia's part, and the consternation of Rias Gremory and her older, more experienced peerage members.

 _Raynare._

James withdrew his revolver, which had been in his pocket the entire time, and began to run towards the mansion. Each step of the way, he cursed Willis and his stupidity, but also he feared for his friend's life in a way he had never before. It was a bond forged by partnership and friendship, and despite all the abuse he heaped on Willis, he could feel _something_ for his friend in this critical moment.

Maybe he couldn't save Willis, but he could save Rias and her friends if he hurried.

James ran on.

* * *

They'd known it when James ran upstairs and then subsequently out of the mansion.

They'd known it when they could feel the Fallen's black wrath and twisted pleasure as she crossed the now-deactivated magical barriers of the Gremory mansion, like some massive storm cloud in the distance And here they were, loaded chock full of Suppressant, unable to use the powers they had been granted since the day they were either born or anointed devils. The only two who were exempt were, of course, Irina and Xenovia, who drew their blades in preparation for combat. But what they could do against a Fallen who was infinitely more clever and experienced than them, even if Xenovia wielded the great Durandal?

Rias' only hope... was _hope_ itself.

She grabbed a kitchen knife and a broomstick and hurried to rally her followers and her allies to the threat that they now faced.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : _Well, another chapter out! Sorry for the delay, and thanks to those of you who followed, favorited, or simply read to this far, ( yes, even you, "Nemoskull". ). Also, it would be_ _SO lovely if you guys read & review. Until then, scrappy out! _


	10. The Ride of Raynare

**Three hours earlier...**

* * *

It occurred to Willis that he'd never gone on a date with anyone before, and was much less experienced than James imagined. Not that James didn't know what was going on in his life. But James had made it clear to Willis in their long conversations that James knew that Willis at least knew what to do during a date. Willis had played along with James' assumptions, smiling and grinning all the while. But now that he was in James' Buick, driving to the Narisawa Restaurant, the ugly truth was spinning in his head- he had zero idea of what to do during a date. He should have at least looked at the numerous men's magazines before going on the date. But no, he didn't.

He could've decided not to show up to the date. There would be no repercussions to doing that, but Yuuma would think badly of him, and he did not want anyone to think badly of him. And besides, he wanted that date anyway, and he would have it- experience or not.

Men who weren't single, like James, for instance, humored his status, but inside he knew that they looked down upon him for not landing a lady, especially at this age. He was twenty-nine, for goodness's sake, and still had never went on a date with anyone before!

Which was why the meeting with Yuuma Amano was all the more important to Willis. Sure, dates sometimes didn't work out, and if it didn't, it would still prove to Willis that he had the potential to do something about his singleness. But what he was really betting on was for the date to work out, and for sparks to fly- to lead to a relationship, and God forbid- _cohabitation._ That sacrosanct phrase implied many, many things, and he was happy to accept them.

There was only one relationship that he could draw upon for backup, and that was the one between Claire and James. It was the typical opposites story- James, a liberal, hell-raising rock n' roll-loving lawyer, and Claire, a Chopin-espousing conservative architect. Yet the two had found love, though they had not lived together before getting married- strict parents did that to a person. Willis knew all this and more because he had tagged along to their numerous dates. He had picked up the tab, told numerous corny jokes, and basically embarrassed himself in front of the two. And he had watched James and Claire grow closer as they laughed in unison- first at Willis, and later with Willis, because his constant presence had the effect of sticking to them like glue. Where any other normal couple would have frowned off the third wheel, James and Claire had accepted him, and he had become a constant fixture in what they did. When James and Claire went shopping, he tagged along, and often footed the bill when it was convenient. At their wedding he was best man- and embarrassed himself in front of President Jeffrey Bradley and most of Claire's family, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that they were happy- even if it was at his expense.

Which, again, was why this date was super important to him.

As he pulled James' Buick into the restaurant's parking lot, he started focusing on what he was interested in, and what he was to gain from this date. While thinking about this, he came to the conclusion that interests weren't always so romantic. A shared passion for a particular subject, whether it was important or trivial, could quickly put two strangers into a special state of subdued passion and frenzy, which distantly resembled love; but you had to hit on the subject to achieve what you actually wanted. Ambitions, on the other hand were a more touchy subject. He felt that- in his case at least- it was hard to announce them without sounding feeble or exaggerating oneself. In fact, as he looked at it, he found his own ambitions unambitious. He imagined James saying, "I want to build the largest law firm in Yonkers City," and people would be smiling yet thinking that could happen. After all, he had shown himself to be ambitious, which was part of the reason why he and Willis were here in Japan. Yesterday's events had shown that James was not willing to give up, even in the face of a legend like Gerald Graham. His ambitions, on the other hand, were rather lackluster- all he wanted was to be loved by a beautiful woman who was a secretary for a large financial conglomerate headquartered in Tokyo. That was the one thing that he could not find himself admitting to Yuuma herself.

As he entered the restaurant, and was directed to his reservation- _wow, Yuuma already made a reservation?_ \- he thought that the Narisawa wasn't too bad a place to get to know a woman. He'd done some research on the place, and phew, was it good! One of the best in Tokyo, with numerous rave reviews on all the major websites- Yelp, Trip Advisor, etc, as well as YouTube. The restaurant was the very epitome of prestige and class, with a beautiful modernist design and immaculate white walls, as well as a gleaming marble floor. Apparently, Yuuma had reserved a seat close to the door, which was good and all- it would allow him to see her coming into the restaurant.

He waited for a while, gazing out at the sights and patrons of the Narisawa Restaurant. It seemed a place for rich people. He saw Japanese businessmen eating out and most likely discussing their latest trade deal or hostile takeover of some rivaling company. Shame he didn't understand Japanese. Claire and James had invited him to their language study sessions- numerous times, in fact- but he'd always declined, citing work or some other far-fetched but still plausible reason. Now, he regretted his choice.

But whatever. Let bygones be bygones.

The door to the restaurant opened, yet Willis didn't notice until the person who had entered took a seat at the table and spoke.

"Don't wanna know me?" Yuuma Amano asked playfully, extending a hand.

"Ohh... yeah..." Willis said, enveloping her hand in his own. "Traffic was great, I trust?"

"You could say that," she said, "but I had to take the taxi. Along the way, some kind of freak pseudo-rush hour traffic jam happened, which explains why I'm late."

"Oh, no," he said, waving his hand, "it's nothing. By the way, they haven't served the menus yet."

" _Oh no_ ," said Yuuma in a cheeky impersonation of his own tone, "they serve a custom-tailored course. However, we are allowed to order drinks, but I've preordered them already, if you don't mind."

As if on cue, a waiter walked up and served drinks- sparkling apple cider for Willis, and a margarita for Yuuma.

As she drank, he sipped from his glass, and stole glances at his date. She really was pretty- her long black hair had an almost wavy quality to it- and not like a wavy hair kind. Rather, it reminded him of the soft lapping of the ocean's waves against the beach. Her face was more than pleasant enough to look at, and he spied some really great curves along the sides of her hips, exemplified only more by the blue strapless dress she was wearing. It reminded him of that quote from _The Library Policeman_ by Stephen King- "The only places where she was plump was where she was supposed to be plump." Yes. That was very like it. Her arms were slender and very pale, and her bosom was impressive- it reminded him of Rias and Akeno's own melon-sized breasts, if only a little smaller than that.

She caught his glance through her margarita. "Sizing me up, aren't you?" she teased.

"Err... No?" he said, caught red-handed.

This awkward moment of perverted guilt was cut short by the waiter, who promptly served appetizers- tiny slivers of raw salmon decorated with exotic-smelling spices, as well as small servings of some unidentifiable vegetable. The waiter nodded at Yuuma, and then walked away, leaving them to enjoy their food.

The salmon was delicious- it seemed to melt in his mouth. The vegetable tasted something like lettuce, but had a fuller, more lustrous feel to it, and he managed to eat it all before Yuuma could even slip her salmon into her mouth.

He caught her questioning glance. "What?" he replied. "It's good food!"

Yuuma sighed, and finished off the rest of her food at a more dignified pace. When she was done, she rapped her fork lightly against her plate.

"So, where are you staying?" she inquired.

"Ummm... this mansion place a few miles out. Trust me, the Rias girl is sitting on a loadful of money. Like, a ton. There's marble walls and even five of the thirteen lost paintings that were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, not to mention other random goodies in there. My room is in the attic, you know, and it's kinda creepy to have _The Concert_ staring at you."

As soon as Willis said that, Yuuma's interest levels seemed to flare up. Soon they were talking about the paintings and what they looked like- the collection was in very good condition, actually- and he told her of his intentions to return the pieces, even if it was against the will of the House of Gremory. She then talked about her favorite art styles- she preferred post-Impressionism over his love of Romanticism. He countered with a rather hot argument about how Romanticism was, well, _romantic_ and post-Impressionism was a wee bit too geometric and relished in using unnatural colors in paintings of that style- something he hated in painting.

Nothing very personal was said. He found it hard to interest Yuuma in his own affairs, and his own openings about his family and his background were not picked up. He'd prepared a few jokes and anecdotes to be told to his date, but they were not to be heard. He tried to go on, but Yuuma sharply changed the subject.

Over the main course of sharply carved beef, patterned salad, and some kind of yellow-colored sauce dip which actually tasted really good, she talked. Willis thought she was quite the egotist, but she didn't reveal much of her inner feelings. Instead, she did something he found himself not able to do- make statements about what kind of person she was. "I'm the sort of girl who needs a lot of sex," she said, almost offhandedly to Willis' horror, and when she noticed his face, she again replied in that simultaneously awful yet endearing offhand tone. "I'm like that- I say what I think. Got a problem with that?"

Willis didn't reply. Instead, he was admiring her qualities, even if she had just made a very strange statement about sex- the most sensitive part of a relationship. He admired her hard self-confidence, yet he felt that each brag constituted some kind of brag against some kind of repressed inner self-doubt.

"So," said Yuuma after a while of silence between the two, "Time flies. I should be getting back."

Willis looked down and mumbled, "Do you have to get back?" with an air of avid disappointment. And here he thought that their date had been going on so well. He tried to smile, but his face was stiff with anxiety at being most likely rejected on his first date. It was something he'd expected, but never actually faced or seen. When he glanced up, he found Yuuma arching an eyebrow skeptically at him, tapping her high-heels in an impatient manner.

"I meant, back to your place, of course." she said once he met her gaze.

"Oh!" Willis said, a little too loud for comfort, yet he was pleased about how fortune had made her way through. But then, he had say, "I don't think we can..."

"What, not enough room?" Yuuma teased as she gave the waiter the tip, and grasped her hand tightly in his, tugging to indicate that they should walk out of the restaurant.

Willis winced and waited. The truth was, he couldn't do it- what it would do to Rias and her followers- just randomly bringing a strange woman home to delight in questionable things. He couldn't do that to Rias, and to Asia, and especially James. It was vulgar and unsafe, and he feared losing their trust. "I don't think we can. I don't mind going up to your place..."

"Actually," said Yuuma, once they were outside, "I have an idea in mind. Care to drive to the nearest park?"

"Ummm... sure?" Willis said, hesitant of what she wanted, as they both clambered into James' Buick.

"Don't worry," she said, cupping his cheek lightly, "I know just where to go. And, what to do once we get there. Just drive."

As he floored the Buick and slowly veered out of the parking lot, his mind threw hesitant accusations at him, reeking of danger and recklessness. But he waved them aside, flooded by the ecstasy of finally establishing connections with a woman. Under normal circumstances he might have heeded them, even taken action on them. They were good accusations, but they could not hold a candle to primal desire, even if said primal desire was coming from Willis Japhon, the antithesis of someone with a successful dating life.

He drove on.

* * *

Night fell in a certain park in Tokyo.

Said park currently contained Willis Japhon and Yuuma Amano, who were currently taking a satisfying stroll through the park's tile paths, admiring the various sights and scenery that said park had to offer. There were some cherry trees, but alas, they were far from blooming, since it was the fall, and not spring. Even at night, the sight of blooming cherry blossoms would have been a beautiful sight.

They walked silently throughout the park, saying nothing to each other as they walked. It was beautiful, really, the sense of serenity that Willis got. And not just because there was a very attractive woman pressed against him. To Willis, parks at night were something... something _magical_.

But Rias Gremory was magical. This entire world had suddenly revealed itself to be magical, teeming with life that mundane humans had never quite gotten to realize yet.

He actually kind of regretted earlier, because just half-an-hour ago, Yuuma had casually suggested that they could have sex behind a very, very large and thick bush. He, of course, had rejected the offer, in a way that was somewhat rude and overbearing. She'd said nothing of course, before he persuaded her to come walk with him in the park. Surprisingly, she had accepted, even though he had turned her down. Christ, he'd been so stupid! She'd literally said that she was a woman that needed a lot of sex. And he'd gone and turned down what she wanted.

But relationships were about compromise, not giving way to the other person. If this worked out, he would have to make some concessions, and she would, too. She had just made her first concession, right there.

They walked in silence, until they came to a fountain. It was a great marble fountain, water flowing incessantly from its many spouts. Several pennies decorated the bottom of the pool. Most were rusted, but a few still glimmered with the relative recentness of their arrival into the fountain.

Here Yuuma turned around to look at him. She grasped his hand, and leaned in as if she wanted to kiss him. It was kind of awkward- he was at least five inches taller than her, and she had to stand on her high heels- which probably was very uncomfortable. Yet suddenly she wavered her face, and her mouth was directly at his ears- apparently meant to whisper something to him. It didn't help that her hands were locked uncomfortably around the nape of his neck. Yet he didn't protest.

"Will... you die for me?"

* * *

 **Gremory mansion- present**

The fallen angel Raynare smashed through the big glass windows that formed the third floor of the Gremory mansion. She felt the activation of the second line of wards, but a quick counterspell that she whispered disabled them. _Stupid devil wardings_ , she thought. Even the weakling magicians that had allied themselves with the human governments could easily break through this. Rather, the greatest amount of magic had been concentrated around the outer barrier, and that was some immensely powerful work indeed. However, the gate had been left open, and that had somehow disabled all the magical wardings.

Below her, she briefly saw a mortal in a blue suit dash for the doors of the mansion. Raynare laughed. Probably the lawyer for the Gremory bitch, the one that she'd seen at the High Court- the one called _James Bradley_. He was stupid if he thought that he was going to be able to stop her with his pistol alone. Sure, it most likely contained those infernal Holy Bullets- those human weapons repurposed for the sole purpose of killing angels, fallen angels, and devils- but a human could never match up against her own might.

In all her existence upon the mortal earth, Raynare had never really loved anyone. It was the typical cutthroat attitude of a fallen angel- trust no one and spare no one in the rise to power. She'd cut through the ranks like a greyhound chasing a rabbit, making friends and then discarding them as quickly as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Yes, those who had Fallen for various reasons, yet flocked to Azazel's banner. In her previous life as an angel, she'd never made it that far. She'd only been a regular angel, not worthy of much notice, and she would be destined to stay as such. But here on Earth, resplendent in free will, no longer bound by the confines of Heaven's cumbersome bureaucracy and overbearing leadership, she had gained influence. She, with her lone pair of wings, had risen to command enough status and influence to equal the great Dominions themselves- the angel lords, the Lordships who still lauded their status even on this mortal plane. Raynare had always taken pride in the fact that her influence was equal to, if maybe greater, than theirs.

Now, that influence was in danger of unravelling- in fact, it _was_ unravelling. She had to prove that she was still strong, and she didn't care about the nonaggression pact between the Underworld and the Grigori. If she came back with empty hands, she would be humiliated by her fellow members before finally being executed by Azazel himself for the breaking pact. No. She would go out with glory, bragging to the end that she had taken the head of the Gremory girl, the sister of the current ruling Satan of the Underworld.

Raynare supposed- _again_ \- that she could really never love anyone. Humans didn't last long. She could never have a Fallen partner, either, for the Grigori were in reality a loose organization with 'every angel for themselves' as its motto. Azazel ruled over this chaotic, anarchic scrabble, and commanded respect from almost everyone in it, but individual relationships were alliance-based. Any partner she could possibly think of would end up backstabbing her. Even Kalawarner, Dohnaseek, and Mittelt, her erstwhile allies in her plan to steal the nun's Twilight Healing, would have probably turned on her, if given the chance.

For that very reason, Raynare had substituted a permanent relationship with the companionship of a number of agreeable men- and women, occasionally. Said _companionship_ also included sharing the bed of that bastard Freed Sellzen, who had left her for dead after being outgunned and outfought. She supposed she would kill him after she got rid of the Gremory and her servants. _An eye for an eye_ was the human expression for that, wasn't it?

But Willis Japhon? That human fool? She would not go as far as to say that he had changed her, but in that stroll, she was sure that she saw _something_ in him. Maybe he could be her next potential companion for the moment...

Raynare pushed those thoughts aside, and landed deftly in the ruined wreckage of the third floor of the Gremory mansion. The black high-heeled boots that she wore crushed the broken shards of glass as she landed. Her black wings pooled around her, and Raynare briefly whisked off a few fragments of window glass before retracting her wings.

A spear of light formed in her outstretched hand, and she began to advance slowly into the darkened halls of the Gremory mansion, spear shining brightly in the darkness.

The first attacker was, well, unexpected. Not that Raynare didn't hear her coming. It was just that the first attacker wielded a very unusual and very strong weapon.

Durandal. The sword of Roland, servant of Charlemagne, Holy Roman Emperor. The girl who wielded it struck swiftly, the massive sword swinging towards Raynare like a massive cleaver.

If a true master of Durandal was in the room, Raynare might have been dead at that very moment.

But she wasn't.

Executing a split-second flip in the air and extending her wings, Raynare leapt upwards, scattering black feathers all over the space. Briefly the girl stepped back in surprise, and that was all Raynare needed. The end of her spear caught the girl in the head, making a sharp crack. The wielder of Durandal was flung towards the end of the wall, which she hit with a muted _thump_ and landed in a broken heap.

"Still alive," Raynare muttered, and pressed forward. Better to deal with the Gremory first before dealing with this girl. Besides, she wasn't a devil. A quick glance at the girl's neck revealed a crucifix. _An exorcist,_ _then_ , Raynare thought. _Explains Durandal_.

Raynare continued, giving the unconscious girl a good stare before proceeding on into the shadows.

After prowling the halls of the mansion, a second attacker came swinging at her. Again, a crucifix adorned this girl's neck, and the girl swung what Raynare recognized as one of the fragments of Excalibur- Excalibur Mimic. The girl had it in the form of a katana, which effortlessly cleaved Raynare's spear in half. Retreating, she formed another and thrusted her weapon at the hilt of her opponent's weapon. To her surprise, the gambit worked. Excalibur Mimic was thrown out of the girl's hands. Defenseless, the pigtailed girl looked at Raynare, her big eyes wide as if she expected mercy or something.

Mercy Raynare did not give. She stabbed the girl in the gut with so much force that her spear protruded out the other end of the girl's backside. Yet the exorcist refused to give up at such an injury. Shakily the girl stood up, her hand gripping the spear for support.

"You... heretic..." the girl said slowly in Japanese, blood flowing from her mouth every time she spoke.

Raynare twisted the spear. Fresh blood spewed from the girl's mouth, and she collapsed, her weight tugging the spear down. Raynare left the spear there and formed another one, waving it in front of her as she went.

If the Japanese press was correct, then these were the only two Church exorcists here. The rest were devils- weaker when alone, but deadly in large groups.

If her intuition was correct, then there was such a large group- or groups- in this very mansion, ready to take advantage of their knowledge of their home base and use it to make short work of her.

Well, they wouldn't get that today.

She could smell them- as much as they could smell her. Wavering presences in the next room, clumped in one group- foolishly believing they could outsmart her that way.

But something made her stop. She remembered the battle at the church, and her realization too late that Issei Hyoudou's Sacred Gear _wasn't_ a Twice Critical. It was a Longinus, one of the original Thirteen.

But even the connection between user and Sacred Gear could be severed by that stupid human invention, the Suppressant- and the human bioweapon was sure to have been used on Gremory and her followers. In exacting her vengeance, Raynare found that it was far easier than before. _Then_ , at the church, the devils had a chance of overpowering her; back when she had been inflated with the pride of taking Twilight Healing from the nun. But here, where they would be cut off, and as easy to slaughter as normal humans...

Apparently they still believed that in a group, they could win. She found them in the large audience room, weapons outstretched and faces bared in aggression. Yet no power had been shown, because there would be no power to be shown. The Suppressant had done its work well.

Even in the face of certain death, the Gremory girl was still defiant. "I, Rias Gremory, of the House of Gremory, will defeat you!" the devil shrieked.

"Hah!" Raynare laughed, leveling her spear, "You might have had a chance at that church. But here, you are powerless. Here, the human bioweapon has rendered you all defenseless. Here, I will slaughter you. Here, I will decorate this mansion in your BLOOD!"

"Fallen angel, that will be determined by this test of combat!" the Gremory girl said, kitchen knife and broom in hand.

Raynare chuckled. "Death is certain for you, and you're still prissy, huh?"

"There is no _prissiness_ in open combat. Especially when we hold the numerical advantage," Gremory growled, her blue eyes blazing with determination. Determination that would soon falter.

"That will be determined, soon enough." the fallen angel growled in return.

Enough banter had passed between them. With a shout, Raynare raised her spear and leapt into battle, confident of her success.

* * *

The sounds of fighting, of combat resonated through the mansion's empty halls. Screams, shouts, and shrieks could be clearly discerned, each becoming distorted and drawn-out as they bounced through the mansion's halls.

 _Time is very fucking short_ , James thought as he moved through the mansion's halls, revolver outstretched. The SM Model 625 was a gun that he never used before. Always he'd preferred Desert Eagles, or Berettas- actual modern pistols. Not this old and antiquated '88 crap that his father had bought when he, James, had been ten.

There were only six bullets in the chamber, and James felt wide open. You had to manually load bullets into the chamber, and although the Model 625 was an auto-loader, it was still a fraction of a second slower than the modern pistols- time that James didn't have.

The sounds of battle were closer now- louder, now. What sounded like a spear crashing against some kind of a hard surface could be heard, along with numerous feminine shouts that either had to come from Akeno or Rias. Asia's distinctive baby-like voice was nowhere to be heard.

He found the first casualty- Koneko. The Rook was lying on her side, sporting a very large and bloody hole above her stomach. It seemed she had dragged herself here, and she almost didn't register that he was there until he knelt down to take a good look at her.

Koneko's breathing was labored, and her face was pale. Her eyes were half-lidded, and blood flowed profusely down the side of her mouth. As she turned to face him, she coughed, and more blood sprung out of her mouth.

"Easy, Koneko," he muttered, not sure of what he could do at this point.

"... Mr. Bradley?" the small girl muttered, each word coaxing more blood out from her mouth.

"Easy there, girl. Don't talk. Stay still. I'm going to go-"

"Don't..." said Koneko. "It's...a...bloodbath... in there..."

James shook his head. "I have to, Koneko. It's my duty."

He stood up and maneuvered around the hallway until he found the entrance to the audience room. Its double-doors were thrust wide open, and James entered, revolver pointed in front of him.

Like Koneko said, it was an absolute, chaotic, bloodstained _mess._ Kiba and Issei lay in corners, both pale like Koneko, both lying in moderately large pools of blood. Asia cowered in the corner, behind a hastily constructed barricade of couches and bookshelves, while Akeno and Rias fought the intruder. Akeno had her hair untied, making it a huge billowing, voluminous mass of black hair. Normally that would have been a combat hazard, but anyone fighting Akeno wouldn't notice that. Instead they would notice the ferocity and glee in which Akeno fought. Rias swung haphazardly, but one could tell that her blows were as fierce as her servant's too. Both fought with gusto and anger, expressed in their own way, as they struggled to beat down their attacker.

That left the attacker.

The attacker was definitely and most likely _a whore_.

How could the attacker not be a whore when she wore such a revealing outfit that was only suitable for gentlemen's clubs?

Not to mention the fact that the attacker was too damn sexy. He had to use that word. He _hated_ using that word. Everything about the attacker implied a kind of _femme fatale_ , a seductress of the highest order.

The smooth arch of Raynare's shoulders would have been enough to bring any mortal to his knees. The slightest curve of her body implied a lustful beauty that was beyond the wildest dreams of any man, and Raynare had a lot of those. Even for a Fallen Angel, who all were the perfect embodiment of lustful desire, she was beautiful.

The sight of her would have been enough to paralyze any man with lust and desire, as it did to Issei Hyoudou in his final moments as a human.

But not James Bradley.

It was not that James was unaffected by her charm. Far from it. It was just that he'd been eternally pissed ever since he'd arrived in this squalid little weeaboo dump of a country. He was angry at everything, and found that he hated everything as well. He hated Jeffrey for dragging him here, he hated Rias Gremory for killing those soldiers and starting this whole damn mess, he hated the Japanese government for being so exhibitionist about suing the devils, he hated the fallen angel for trying to attack Rias Gremory, he hated Willis for being Willis- hell, he hated God for twisting fate and putting him here.

The only thing he didn't hate- would never hate- was Claire. Like a shining beacon she shone, guiding him on the right path, so that one day, he could see her again, and delight in her warm embrace and love.

And that stupid fucking fallen angel was currently smothering that shining beacon. Not to mention the fact that she was getting in the way of all that was happening; what really _fucking needed to happen._

Time was very fucking short, and this dumbass whore was making it even shorter.

James shot the fallen angel in the back.

The bullet exited the barrel of the Model 625 and flew through the air at breakneck speeds, burying itself in Raynare's back.

The fallen angel let out a primal scream of pain and collapsed. James rushed towards the fallen angel, and delivered a good kick to the whore's neck. That was rather stupid. The fallen angel grabbed his foot with one gauntleted hand and twisted his foot so far backwards that it snapped, utterly and entirely. Pain that felt like liquid fire coursed through his leg, and James hobbled back, grunting in pain and fear.

Like a fox the whore leapt up, and slapped Akeno and Rias aside with the side of her spear, forcing the two girls to the ground. She paid them no heed, however, as she pointed the spear at him.

"James Bradley," the fallen angel said, sneering despite her pain. Despite that sneer, her face never lost any inch of its beauty or seductiveness. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Too bad that it'll be only for a short time!"

He wasn't listening. Behind the fallen angel was a massive glass wall, one of the many architectural mysteries of this mansion. Whoever had built this- probably Gremory's father, perhaps- had ordered too many glass walls built into the mansion. Apparently the angel had crashed through a glass wall on the third floor- a small one at that. He was wrong to have thought it a façade. _This_ was the façade of the mansion. James hated glass, having cut himself once on glass shards when he was ten. But here, it might help him.

He fired two bullets, which missed the angel by a wide margin. His father might've called it a bad shot, if he was still alive. That wasn't the purpose, however. Instead, the projectiles punched through the glass wall, forming a large, Buick-sized hole. Perfect for what he intended.

The angel turned around briefly to see where the bullets had went, before turning back with a vindictive grin etched on her face. "Hah! Petty humans, with your petty toys. You could never hit me, couldn't you?"

James didn't answer. He simply charged headfirst into his opponent, raining blow after blow on her head, trying to disorient her. She dropped her spear in pained surprise, trying to fend off his blows with her own fists, striking back. He felt blows-painful blows being thrown at him. But it came too little too late. She was being forced backwards, step by step as he attacked with ferocity that he hadn't shown in years. Finally she was at the threshold of the window. He bashed her across the face, but she somehow managed to sidestep him in the following seconds and twist her whore's body sideways. His fist, devoid of a target, swung in its intended arc and smashed into the jagged edges of the shattered glass, cutting his hand deep. Was it deep enough to hit the major arteries, or reach the bone? He didn't know, and he didn't particularly care.

What he _did_ know was that he was going to have a hell of a field day explaining all this to his insurance provider.

The wounded hand caught the whore by her glossy black hair and yanked her all the way to where he was standing. With his other hand he smashed her face through the glass, cutting her face in at least a dozen places as the whore's pretty face went through the jagged edges. But for him it was too late as well- the momentum of the blow sent him tumbling out of the window and into thin air. But there was a catch- he was dragging the fallen angel with him as well. Too late she realized what he was trying to do, and extended her black wings to take flight even as she grappled with him in mid air.

 _No. The bitch is going to get away._

But then something came to him, amid the fire of his wounded hand and the realizations of death. It was probably his rational mind, but it sure sounded like his father.

 _Gun, you little piece of shit._

His father's revolver, the old '88 six-shooter. It was still there, it was still actually _fucking_ there. Even as he fell the revolver stayed stubbornly in his pants pocket. Even as he fell he drew it like an old cowboy in a spaghetti Western, felt its cool metal grip. It was instinct, somehow. He'd grown up watching so many of those damned movies that he'd always stuffed any revolver that he'd gotten his hands on deep in his pockets.

Including his father's hallowed '88 Smith Wesson.

He fired the gun. Its deadly payload exited the barrel and tore right through the whore's left wing, tearing out muscle and black feather alike. Then he emptied out the rest of the clip.

Even as the Fallen screamed in throat-tearing agony, James Bradley was scheming of ways to get around death, like he had done with virtually every criminal case he had gotten his hands on. The revolver was out of his reach, fallen, lost to the wind. Probably it was on the grounds somewhere, but it wouldn't help him. Instead, he was latching his hands on the whore's body, using the physics of free fall to arrange himself on her body. She felt this, and she fought too, her fists striking every available portion that James was leaving out to strike. But his purpose was set- he had basically managed to secure a landing cushion. Said cushion had big breasts, a nice ass, and a pretty face, but it would do nonetheless.

And that was how the lawyer and the angel plummeted into the darkness of the night, still fighting each other.

* * *

"Ugghhh..." muttered Willis Japhon.

Pain manifested itself almost as soon as he returned to consciousness.

He looked at himself in the rearview mirror of the Buick.

Apparently, Yuuma had done some creative retooling of his skull.

No. Not Yuuma. _Raynare_. That was the name she had given him, as she transformed into a voluptuous beauty complete with a scandalous black form-fitting outfit. He'd been forced to drive out here, and then she'd stopped him and then smashed his head into the driver's wheel.

He was grateful to God and the archangels, that he was still alive.

He was shocked. Yuuma- _no, Raynare!_ had lied to him. She had pretended all of that, and in fact she was Raynare, a fallen angel! And her mission was to kill the devils! He couldn't let that happen! He was still alive!

The engine was still running. That had to mean that James' car was still working. The lights were still working normally, which meant that the gas hadn't run out in the time that he was out.

Willis slammed the pedal with his foot, and the car gave a thunderous roar, revving to life. He was driving James' Buick now, and in just ten minutes, he'd be at the mansion.

As he drove, a nagging suspicion ate at him. What if the devils and James overpowered Raynare? Then they would kill her, wouldn't they? After all, no one, especially James, took kindly to being attacked.

Despite the fact that Raynare had lied to him and smashed his head into the driver's wheel, he couldn't let her die. That was his code, meaningless as it was. No one was allowed to die under his watch. Besides, he was a lawyer. Wasn't that what they swore you to do at graduation? To defend all those who needed it, however wrong or right they may be?

James, Rias, and the others certainly needed help, but so did the fallen angel.

No one was below mercy.

Fueled by the fires of determination, Willis Japhon put the pedal to the metal and began to drive.

 _I won't let anyone die!_

* * *

Rias hadn't expected _that_ to happen.

To be specific, she had never expected James to get himself up here quick enough.

A quick sweep over the room, however, erased all thoughts of the American lawyer from her head. Kiba and Issei lay in bloody heaps on opposite ends of the room. Quickly Akeno came over to tend Issei, while she worked on Kiba. She couldn't really do much. Kiba lay there. He had a large wound in his gut, which was still bleeding. However, it wasn't as bad as it possibly could have been.

"President..." Kiba moaned, and fresh blood gushed out of his mouth. "I... failed... you..."

"Yuuto," Rias said, "don't... You did good."

He had. Though deprived of his powers by that stupid human chemical, he still had managed to keep up a decent defense against Raynare, parrying her blows and even dealing her some slight injuries. But he did not have either Sword Birth or the superhuman speed that Knights were given due to their connection with the Evil Pieces.

Damn the humans, and damn their strict policies!

In fact, she was angered to the point that she did not notice that the floor was rumbling. The mansion shook with her fury, and her desire to rip Raynare to shreds for the wrong that she had done Rias' peerage.

"Rias," Akeno said in her usual, carefree lilting way, "it seems that the human drug has worn off."

"The Suppressant? Already?" the devil heiress exclaimed, looking at her Queen.

"Yes, Rias," Akeno replied in a condescending tone. As she said so, she raised a hand. Said hand crackled with electricity, sparkling into bright iridescent bursts.

Behind her, Asia stood up shakingly. The young girl looked around unsteadily, before setting her gaze on the large glass hole that James and Raynare had just plummeted out of.

"President?" her Bishop asked, taking in her surroundings, "are...Mr. Bradley... and Raynare... dead?"

"That is something that we will have to find out." Rias said in an assertive tone. Here was the turning of the tables; the fabled reversal of fortunes. She had to take advantage of it.

The Power of Destruction- the might that had been afforded to her and Sirzechs through the line of the House of Bael- materialized in her hand. The mansion trembled in the face of such power. Akeno looked on curiously, while Asia's Twilight Healing was already being activated for the purpose of healing. Within a minute, Issei and Kiba were back on their feet, albeit pale, and her Knight shakily manifested a blade. Asia assisted Issei in standing, who gratefully accepted the help, but Rias caught her Pawn's lecherous stare.

Rias shook her head. Even when he was dying, Issei Hyoudou had the brains- or well, lack thereof- to still gape and gawk after women. She supposed a spanking would be in order after this...

Koneko, Xenovia, and Irina stumbled in through the great doors, with Asia accompanying them. The girl's uniform was slightly covered in blood, but she still retained an upbeat expression.

Rias looked at her troops and allies. They were slightly demoralized, but they still had some fight left in them. And she, Rias, could still lead them into battle.

"We will defeat the fallen angel, and exact what should've been paid long ago! We will take her down, and avenge James Bradley!"

The ragged "army" cheered and raised their weapons in a disorganized salute. Then they extended their wings and jumped out the hole in the glass wall, carrying Xenovia and Irina with them, ready to exact their vengeance.

And closure. It was more closure for Rias, but to the rest of her peerage, either one could be exchanged for the other. It didn't matter anyway. They wouldn't know the difference.

* * *

The first thing that James Bradley was aware of was the fact that his shirt was wet, and that he was currently experiencing a terrible headache.

He attempted to sit up, groaning aloud at the sharp bolt of pain that slashed its way through his head, and tried to remember what had gotten him into this terrible headache in the first place. _The trial_ , his mind whispered, _the trial you fool, time is very fucking short, have to get finished with the paperwork-_

No- that wasn't right. They'd already held the first hearing, gotten important things down, all that fancy shit. Here was a time of discovery and rest, to recover from what had been witnessed at the courtroom. Then Willis had went on his date, and-

 _Oh SHIT! The Yuuma Amano bitch is that Raynare that the devils keep talking about!_

But he was not anywhere near the dining room where the devils had given their impromptu deposition, and he was nowhere near _anywhere_ that could stop anyone from doing anything. James Bradley hated being irrelevant. It was a helpless state, and James Bradley hated being helpless.

It came back to him there- what he was, who he was, and why he was lying on the ground helplessly like a ragdoll carelessly thrown by its lack-witted owner. It came back to him- everything. Every single damned event that had happened over the last few convoluted days came back to him.

He sat up all the way, too quickly. His arm was limp, and when he tried to move it, he doubled over in agony, trying to quench the deathly pain that was emanating from his wounded limb. On top of that, his head throbbed and ached, reminiscent of the times that he'd woken up from nights where he had had too much to drink. Blood spurted from his nose and splattered his pants. He looked down and saw that his shirt and vest were stained with it.

"Fuck..." James Bradley groaned. He spat when he tasted blood in his mouth.

Sudddenly, he felt the sharp bite of claws dig into his back, forcing him down onto the ground. His face was forced into the soft dirt, and slammed repeatedly into the earthy mass when he attempted to breathe. It was not so much the pain that was tearing its way through him- the ground was actually quite soft- but rather the fact that he was being slowly and methodically suffocated. Every bash took some more breath away as he struggled to move, to get some oxygen to relieve his battered lungs. But he got none. The hands that held him down were tight, and with every movement he made, they gripped harder, like iron.

He was feeling progressively lighter now. Each second promised agony and yet deliverance- deliverance from the agony that was the agony of not being able to breathe. His hands grasped blindly at the dirt, trying to move, trying to escape, but the iron grip of his attacker's hands held him down by the shoulders and prevented him from moving.

 _Slower... slower... slower... slower..._

Carbon dioxide was filling in James' body, and his lungs were pounding with pain. His hands grasped the ground even more frantically, instinctively trying to find some way to escape, to get out, but he knew there was none. He would keep scratching at the dirt until he expired and died.

The reality of the situation was like a cold, hard slap to the face. He would die, and never see Claire's bright face again. The thought of what his death would do to his wife was horrifying. He imagined her in a pool of blood, or maybe her lifeless body hanging from the ceiling. His wife was rather delicate and fragile, and always wore her heart on her sleeve. At least there was a marginal chance that they might meet again in whatever hell that Rias Gremory and her family held dominion over. That in itself was heartening, given that he was about to die at the hands of a whore.

It was incredibly cliché, but it was happening. In these last, precious moments, James Bradley was attempting to review every single thing he had done in life. He sorted out the good from the great, the mediocre from the bad, the bad from the terrible- all in what meagre time he had left. But even that soon faded away, as he became more light-headed, more airy, as life began to fade away...

"Fuck it," James Bradley mouthed into the dirt, as Death swept in to take its due.

But then, it didn't.

The hands that gripped him suddenly were ripped away, and James found himself reaching for blessed oxygen as he rolled over and gasped and wheezed in the cool night air. He coughed and gagged for a while more before turning to see what exactly had ripped the fallen angel's hands of death away from his shoulders.

The answer? Goddamn Rias Gremory and her servants, as late as ever.

Like the Light Brigade they charged, sweeping over the lawn in a massed attack, with Rias Gremory at the lead. Her hair billowed out in copious quantities as she led and shouted and sprinted, throwing fireballs left and right. Behind her, the peerage followed closely behind, which was in turn flanked by Xenovia and Irina carrying their weapons, all screaming like banshees as they rapidly overtook the fallen angel's position. He saw- and _heard_ \- the fallen angel scream her own, valiant cry of response, and watched as she ran screaming, light spear outstretched, into the wall of oncoming death that was the Gremory peerage. He saw the Fallen and Rias go down in a messy tangle of limbs, punching and kicking and screaming. He watched as the Fallen gained the upper hand, crawling atop the devil heiress, just ready to drive her weapon between Gremory's massive bust.

Then the rest of the peerage crashed into the Fallen, and James watched as his opponent was utterly curbstomped. He watched as Koneko grabbed the Fallen's own spear and drive it into her shoulder, and he watched as Akeno unleashed a great burst of electricity upon the Fallen's back, causing her to fall to the ground. He watched as Kiba brought forth his swords and opened gaping wounds on the Fallen's legs and hips. Xenovia and Irina brought their own weapons down, but that was blocked by the swipe of a newly-manifested spear. The whore's gains did not last long, however, as Issei's crimson gauntlet crashed into the whore's face. Like a rock she fell, and when she collapsed to the ground, she did not get up.

Silence. Silence on the battlefield.

Rias got up, unsteadily, her face already marred by a rapidly-swelling bruise. Aside from that, the devil heiress was unharmed.

Instantly the entire peerage was at his side, staring at him like a group of lords staring down at the fallen body of one of their own.

The devil heiress knelt down to his level, and smiled.

"Need a hand, James Bradley?"

He grunted- and grinned.

"Try not to be late next time I need a lift, savvy?"

Gremory smiled. "Heh. Better late than never."

Akeno smirked. "He's made out of strong stuff, this one."

"I came here to dance, not to die."

His legs were broken, that was for sure. Asia was there, her hands glowing with green power as the small Italian girl bent down to heal him of his injuries. He attempted to wave it off, but the girl was too determined. He felt her small hands running over his legs, and the blissful healing that followed. Bones that had been presumably fractured or shattered knitted themselves together, becoming whole again. Her hands touched his ruined, torn hand, and he watched in wonder as new, fresh skin began forming over the deep wounds that had been gouged in his hand. The pain was gone, replaced by only the sense of regularity, as if nothing had happened to his body.

"You know, if there were more girls like you, insurance wouldn't have to exist."

Asia looked blankly at him, before turning to Rias.

"What's... _insurance_?" the Bishop asked her master in a questioning and very cute tone.

Rias chuckled. "Something you'll learn about when you get older."

Xenovia cleared her throat. "Ahem. We still have a problem."

The blue-haired exorcist gestured towards the prone fallen angel with a single swipe of her head.

"Ah, yes, the complicated question of the fallen angel," Rias said. Her tone changed; it outright _dropped_ an octave, becoming dark and grim. She walked, and her peerage and the Church exorcists followed- he followed, too, because there was simply no other course of action to pursue.

They did not surround the fallen angel like they had him- that was a dangerously stupid thing to do. Rather, they kept a short distance away from her, weapons outstretched and at the ready. James stood behind the wall of weaponry that was being brandished, watching over the heads of his clients. They were all shorter than him, which made him look like a giant. And then there was Willis, taller than James...

Willis, that damned bastard and fool, where was he?

He pushed aside Xenovia and Irina, ignoring their cries of protest. He wrenched Irina's katana from her hands and pointed it at the fallen angel.

"Where's Willis? What have you done to him, monster?"

The whore laughed. "Heh. You would really ask what I've done? Look around you, mortal. Do you see Willis Japhon around here, anywhere? Do you?"

Obviously not.

"Give me a straight answer, you bitch!"

The fallen angel chuckled. "Straight answer? What do you expect me to do, give him to you all prim and proper like he would be if he had never left the stinking hole that you people call the United States of America? He's a mess, that much I can promise you, lawyer."

She now turned to Rias and the rest of her servants.

"And you? You had your chance to kill me, and you didn't. And now you do again. So why the hesitation? Do it."

The angel spat a gob of blood on the grass.

To James' surprise, it was Issei that forced his way through the peerage. The Pawn's face was full of rage as he brandished his crimson gauntlet and shook it in the angel's face.

"You killed me! You hurt Asia! Why?!" the teenager exclaimed. The green gem inlaid in the gauntlet somehow seemed to glow brighter with every second that Issei spent speaking.

"Heh," was all the fallen angel had to say.

"Is that all you have to say?!" His gauntlet rose, ready to strike.

"Go on, do it!" she said, smirking. "Do it. Kill me. You're no better than your master, demonspawn."

James could see it in Issei's face, the boy's emotions getting the better of him. Tears streamed down his face, teeth gritting his lips. His gauntlet was suspended in the air as Issei contemplated the morality, the ethicality of killing Raynare in cold blood.

"No," said Issei. "I am not like you."

He walked back into the ranks of his fellows, and nodded at Rias.

Rias looked at James. "I know this will trouble you, lawyer, but this is how the Underworld serves its justice."

James grunted. "All the same, I cannot allow you to do so. Remember, it was your so-called _Underworld justice_ that got y'all in this crapsack case in the first place."

"Then what would you have us do?" Rias replied, angry. Apparently, the girl was angry upon not being able to do the very act that had gotten her stuck in this case in the first place. Yet something had to be done about the whore.

He gripped the katana with both hands. "This."

The whore's eyes widened as she saw the wicked gleam of the katana in James' hands. He poised it above her neck, ready to strike the killing blow...

Lawyers were not supposed to kill or take lives. Lawyers were supposed to work justice in the courtroom, not like some vigilante. He was being the vigilante right now, performing executions that he was not supposed to do. The better course of action would have been to subdue the whore and take her to court, and yet something was urging him to bring the blade down, as hard as he could- past blood and bone, and claim her head. It was revenge, he surmised, _revenge for Willis, who lies dead somewhere, ruined in ways I know not..._

"God damn you, whore!" James shouted, and swung.

Time seemed to slow down for him. He'd killed men before- though that was a topic he preferred not to let anyone know- but only in self defense. Never like this. He was not an executioner. He was a _lawyer_ , defender of those who had been sentenced wrongfully to the stainless-steel ride. Not an executioner. Not an executioner... Not an executioner...

The blast of a car horn resonated through the area.

The katana dug into the ground, barely an inch from the whore's face. In the surprise of hearing such a loud sound, he had apparently involuntarily jerked his hand back, making it a one-handed grip on his katana. And a one-handed sword grip was so much easier to knock out of someone's hands- or divert in this case- which made things beneficial. Very beneficial.

Because he knew who had just blasted that car horn.

The car itself he recognized, for it was his very Buick Roadmaster that cruised up the road and through the open gates of the Gremory mansion, stopping abruptly right in front of the debacle that was happening.

Willis Japhon got out of the car. Dried blood matted his hair. Fresh blood oozed from a large cut on his head, and the area around the cut was actually slightly _caved in_. It looked as if the whore had done some creative retooling of Willis' front skull. Despite his injuries, the tax attorney walked rather calmly towards the scene of the crime.

"Hey, James," he managed, smiling sheepishly.

James dropped the katana, unable to speak. "Willis... you're alive." he finally said with some trepidation in his voice. "Thought you were dead."

"Well, me too," Willis replied, shrugging, "but if Craig Toomy can be hit with a spinning toaster and survive, then I can get ma' face smashed into your driver's wheel. It's all good."

James did not know who Craig Toomy was, and he didn't understand the whole fact about being hit with a spinning toaster, but really he didn't care. "Alright, Willis. We'll get you fixed up. Just about to execute the bitch, that's all."

He looked down on the whore. Surprisingly she had not done anything during this time. Maybe she was consigned to the fact of death. But if he was in her place, he would have felt content to take down a few of her supposed mortal enemies before dying, which left one important question.

 _So why wasn't she?_

Willis caught the woman's gaze. "'ey, Raynare."

Raynare was silent.

The tax attorney turned to Rias. "So, um, I know this is pretty awkward and all, but can you not kill her?"

"Not?!" Rias exclaimed, her blue eyes awash with anger. "NOT?! How can I NOT end her? She caused my peerage pain and death. She _killed_ Issei and Asia, and she was almost on the verge of murdering you as well, and yet you ask for her life? Are you a fool, Willis Japhon, because I think you certainly are!"

"I know, I know!" Willis protested, "but I dunno, I think we connected on a level. Give her a chance, will you?"

"Give her a CHANCE?!" Rias shouted, now. "Give that Fallen a chance, and we will all have red, smiling throats by the morrow! I am doing what is _right_!"

Rias' outstretched hand began to glow, now. Black flames appeared in the devil's hand, a triumphant smirk appearing as they basked her face in their warm, soft glow.

"You caused my servants much misfortune. Prepare to die."

"NO!" shouted James and Willis at once.

To James' surprise, it was Willis that rushed to the angel's defense, not him.

"Don't do it, Rias! It's wrong!"

"Wrong?! How is the execution of an enemy wrong?!"

The tax attorney scowled. "Because it _is_! We don't do things in America that way!"

James locked eyes with his enemy. Yes, she was his enemy, but in that one moment, both Raynare and James were as bemused as everyone else in the clearing, listening to Willis' speech.

"When I graduated from law school, they made us swear an oath- _Uphold the law, and make sure that no injustice is served._ I've held to my vows in tax court plenty of times- helped a bunch of folks who the IRS claimed to have been tax evaders. Typical of the IRS. And guess what? It was a misunderstanding, but if there was no attorney to defend them there, the IRS could've pursued them, and done all kinds of nasty tax thingies to them."

Rias grunted. "And how does the intrigues of this... _IRS_... relate to the rightful execution of an enemy of my faction?"

"Enemy? _Pul-eeze_. Martin Luther King fought for American civil rights in the '60's. People hated blacks back then, because of the whole Civil War-slave thingey involving segregation and all that. James, come on, help me out! You're fighting for devils, for goodness' sake! Devils, creatures of sin! Most lawyers would have either refused the case, or kill themselves, like the bengosheys are doing right now! Come on, give me a hand, you're doing good and preventing racism, so help me out!" '

James grunted as he felt the stares of Rias Gremory's peerage.

"It's true- the Japanese government _does_ want y'all dead."

Xenovia scoffed. "The Tokyo administration does want us dead, but the intrigues of human politics are _nothing_. _This_ is an age-old enemy, one who has Fallen from our Lord's-"

"Oh, don't give me any of that bullshit, Xenovia! Your little Vatican _is_ human politics! Stupid fucking Popes messed around with the Italian city-states during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries- they kinda were the reason half of Europe went to fucking WAR! If anyone, the Catholic Church should be the one on trial! Not to mention that they've been hiding all this supernatural BULLSHIT for centuries!"

He rounded on Rias, then. "And YOU! It was your little justice shit that got you into this bloody predicament in the first place!"

Rias looked back at him, her eyes blazing with hate and fury, and yet acceptance as well- for what he had just hatefully stated was true. Had Rias not acted on her sense of _retaliation_ and _devil's justice_ , all the events that had transpired would have not transpired.

But then the existence of the Three Factions would have never been revealed...

It felt like one of those days where he had had too much to drink.

Fuck it. Fuck it all...

* * *

"Hey," Willis said, waving at Raynare.

The fallen angel looked away from him. She was surrounded by her enemies, and now by the person that she had deceived. Under different circumstances, Raynare would have just stuck a spear in him and flown away. But she couldn't. Even if she did do that, Gremory's peerage would kill her on the spot.

It was a matter of survival, really.

But was it?

She could never love anyone- or could she?

Issei, that bastard. She thought he loved her, but he had just turned away and let the devil attempt to execute her. But it had taken this American, this bleeding, tall, gangly American human to save her. It was strange, really. Like Issei, she had done him no small injustice. With Issei, she had killed him. With Willis, she had bashed his head against the driver's wheel, and left him there to die. But unlike Issei, who turned away...

"Hey, it's going to be alright," the tax attorney said softly, helping her up. The cuts on her legs ensured she could not stand long, though.

She was rather surprised when the mortal swept her up in his arms, like a dashing prince in a human fairy tale would to the damsel-in-distress.

Raynare supposed she was in distress, but she was no damsel.

However, the man holding her seemed to think that she was such a person.

"Hey, somebody get a healer! These cuts look nasty!" Willis exclaimed, peering at the lacerations on her legs.

"No, really, I'm fine..." the fallen angel protested.

"No, they're not fine. Somebody should really get a healer."

As if on cue, Asia Argento sprinted out of the group, hands glowing with Twilight Healing. She pressed her hands to Raynare's wounded legs, and soon there was the blissful relief of healing.

Raynare looked at the former nun. It was rather difficult to think that just a few weeks ago, the rare Sacred Gear that was Twilight Healing could have been hers. It was in her grasp, like the fruits of Tantalus that he could never eat, nor the water at his feet that he could never drink. She had been so close. And then that boy, the possessor of the Red Dragon Emperor, had arrived. He had changed everything, forced her to dispose of Asia in a way that would horrify even Baraqiel, known for his cruelty. And now things had changed, again.

Fate was cruel, even to fallen angels.

Willis flashed the girl a thumbs-up.

For some reason, Raynare had her hands wrapped around the back of Willis' neck. She supposed she _could_ crush his neck right now, but that would get her killed on the spot. That was something she didn't want to have happen to her.

Plus, Willis Japhon was becoming rather endearing to her.

Gremory scowled. "So do we accept a _fallen angel_ into my manse? Are you mad?"

She was talking- no, shouting- to none other then James Bradley, the lawyer. The lawyer who had fought her, who she had tried to kill before all this had happened.

Issei pushed his way out of the group.

"You're _seriously_ considering bringing her here?! Never!"

"SHUT UP!" James Bradley roared, and in his hands was the revolver that he had used against Raynare. He grabbed Issei's shirt and whacked him across the face with it, drawing blood. Rias hissed, but the brandishing of the gun silenced her.

It was enough to make Raynare uncomfortable as well- in there was at least one bullet that was capable of mortally wounding a devil or fallen angel.

"We'll inject her with the Suppressant, enough to make sure that she'll be drugged," the lawyer was saying, though it sounded like he was talking to himself. "We'll do that, and then bring her to court the day after next."

He sighed.

"The choice that Willis made is his burden to bear- and I don't care if she ends up murdering him and trying to take out half the mansion. I will _not_ have any more extrajudicial killings on my watch, _is that understood_?!"

Gremory and her devils reluctantly nodded, their eyes on Raynare the entire time.

"And you," the lawyer growled, whipping around to face Willis and Raynare, "If you do go on a rampage, we are more than happy to kill you and rip you apart. Keep that in mind, you bitching whore."

With that in mind, James Bradley began walking away towards the entrance of the now quite-ruined mansion. Seconds later, the peerage began following him, leaving Willis and Raynare alone in the middle of the front yard.

After a while, Willis began following them, too, still carrying Raynare in his arms. It was something that she wasn't used to, but now something she was enjoying immensely.

But something put a damper on her newfound enthusiasm: she was being carried to a devil's nest.

Granted, she would have the protection of someone who was rather influential with the devils, but it still _was_ a devil's nest.

Raynare considered the facts. If she was to be put on trial, the entire world would know of her existence- including the Three Factions. She could easily see some kind of sortie carried out to remove her- and Gremory- from the playing field to up someone's ambitions. She would have eventually been offed by someone looking to further their ambitions, fallen or otherwise. This was a somewhat safe option- safety among a devil's nest, however laughable that sounded.

Safety, and captivity, like a canary in a golden cage.

But never mind that. There were worse things waiting out there for her, and Raynare decided in that moment that she would rather be here than out there.

It was something that she could live with.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Another chapter out, at last. All that legal research has yet to be used, though, so I'm counting on that to be important later. I'd really love to hear your guys' feedback on my story and its legal contents. Thanks for reading!_


	11. Transitional Talks

**Somewhere on the Shuto Expressway...**

Of the three Bradley brothers, Joshua was perhaps the most ordinary of them all. Whereas Jeffrey had ascended to high office, and while James had gone on from his troubled past and criminal tendencies to forge his own law firm and grow reasonably wealthy off it, Joshua had stayed thoroughly ordinary.

Joshua Bradley did not really care for uniqueness. Actually, he found that he _despised_ it.

And yet he had been _special_ enough to make his way into Rainier & Landon's corporate offices. He had been _special_ enough to get dragged along for the magical mystery ride of the trial against devils. And now he was being scrutinized by political analysts and gossiped about in the tabloids. Not as much as Gerald or James, but still, he was being dragged along.

It bothered him greatly.

As he drove along the freeway- which for once _wasn't_ congested- Joshua thought to consider everything that had happened over the course of the past few days. He was the least noticeable of the three attorneys who represented the Japanese government's interests at this trial, and yet he was still being noticed. He hated it.

Corporate attorneys like him did not go to courtrooms. They sat in cubicles and negotiated deals between major companies or governments- often both. His direct superior in this case, Gerald, was something out of the olden days- a superb plaintiff's lawyer, yet one that worked for corporations. So was Heather; the woman had six years' of trial experience, and relished brawling in the courtrooms, if workplace gossip could be believed.

Joshua did not despise his job, unlike some of his coworkers. Hours were long, coffee needed to be consumed- especially on graveyard shifts- and the competition was intense. Everyone wanted to make partner, and they were willing to backstab and connive and deceive in order to get there.

It was common practice to begin vetting out associates after their third year in most corporate firms. That was why so many wanted to make partner, to keep their six-figure jobs and their benefits.

He had only been working at Rainier & Landon for a year now, and he saw the fierceness between associates. There were no friends in the offices of Rainier & Landon- only enemies.

He, Joshua, was unique. He had thought that the corporate paymasters of Rainier & Landon would not care about who he was related to, but they did, and they cared greatly. It was such that he never received too much of a heavy workload, and most of his fellow associates either gave him a wide berth or tried to befriend him, to no avail. It would suffice to say that Joshua did not refuse their advances. After all, he _was_ looking for friends, even if they sought to use him to advance up the corporate ladder. Joshua didn't care about going up there. He was content with his one-hundred-and-ten-thousand-a-year salary, plus three weeks' worth of paid time off. Joshua had never used his PTO, but he had a stinking suspicion that if he overstayed his vacation, his employers wouldn't fire him, despite the fact that he would be breaking those otherwise-rigid corporate rules.

After all, everyone feared the wrath of Jeffrey Bradley, the forty-forth President of the United States.

That made him decide to call his eldest brother, since he was currently headed towards the devils' mansion that James was staying at.

"What's up?" Jeffrey grunted. Joshua had heard that Presidents usually did not spare time for frivolous phone calls- even from their siblings- but Jeffrey had never been there for James or Joshua, and the youngest Bradley supposed that this was his way of paying back his younger siblings for his lost time.

"Hey, Jeff," Joshua said. Unlike James, the eldest and youngest Bradley siblings were on rather amicable terms, since they had actually taken time to talk, unlike James, who shouted and ranted at pretty much everything they did... scratch that. At anything _anyone_ did.

"How's the case?" the President asked. Joshua heard papers being shifted over the phone, heard coffee being set on a table. "Anything much happen there, Joshua?"

"Eh, nothing much. We haven't even set a trial date yet, so yeah..."

Before Jeffrey had gone into politics, he had worked in Wall Street's corporate firms before, and, as Jeffrey was always apt to point out, 'never once in my time there did I go to court.'

"Trial date, huh? Seems the new generation of corporate attorneys are finally waking up to the courtroom."

"Yeah," Joshua said, swerving to avoid a madly honking Toyota, "it's a bummer, alright. Though Gerald's done extensive courtroom work before, so it should be fine. Heather, too."

"Give Gerald my regards," Jeffrey said, "but I believe that it's time for my morning walk."

Joshua rolled his eyes. "Oh, _come on_ , Jeff, it's literally been, what, three minutes, and you're hanging up on me now? What's up with you?"

He heard heavy sighing. "You _know_ how it is, Joshua. Being President is really tough. You have to wake up at six in the morning to get some dumbass CIA report on what Putin's up to in the Kremlin, or whatever brushfire war that just sprung up in Central Asia, or how many Africans have keeled over because of some famine that their corrupt government caused. Not only that, but then you've got countless reports from all over the bloody country, too. _Jesus_. Sometimes I wish I should just let Romney take the Oval Office, instead of doing all this hard-ass campaigning to get me another four years..."

Jeffrey grunted over the phone again. "But I can't do that, however much I want to do that. Fuck it, I won't be known as the President who purposely left office because Hell scared me off."

"No one would ever know," Joshua tried to counter, but to no avail.

"No one would know, but people would be guessing. And I won't let Romney undo what I've been trying to do all over this country. Fucking Obamacare and withdrawing out of Iraq, and now this goddamned devil problem, I swear, Romney's probably make Satan so mad he busts a vein or two. Or fucking _five thousand_. All I know is that this is already a hard job, and then fucking devils and angels and shit go crawling out of the woodwork..."

Joshua blinked. "Well, who _said_ withdrawing out of Iraq was a bad thing? That was Bush's fault, not ours. And the whole Obamacare thing, well, Senator Obama simply proposed a better version of your planned healthcare thing. It's not perfect- far from it, but it's all we Americans have."

"True, true, but what do _you_ know?"

He really couldn't answer that.

* * *

"I can't believe this."

Such were the words spoken by a certain red-headed devil heiress to address a certain black-haired and very ill-tempered American attorney.

"Yeah, me neither. But it's fucking happening."

They stood on the staircase which spilled into the large living room of the mansion, concealed partially by the shadows. Neither had deigned to make their presence known, but if she was correct in her assumptions, the Fallen would have already sensed their presence there and made note of it.

Rias Gremory sighed. It was a given fact that the Fallen's presence in the mansion was already a massive safety hazard. Even if she couldn't manifest her accursed spears of light, nothing could stop her from trying to kill any of her peerage members- or Irina, Xenovia, and Willis for the matter. Not to mention that the tax attorney had his arm casually slung around the Fallen's shoulder….

"You lawyers and you pacifist ways," she growled, "Is everything you do regulated by some antiquated instructions written down long ago?"

"Like I said yesterday," James Bradley replied, "it was your failure to follow those antiquated instructions that led to your arrest and this trial. So I would be more careful if I were you to follow those rules."

"Rules, rules, rules! How is anything done in this world?" Rias cried out in exasperation.

It seemed that way to her, at least. She had woken up early today just to peruse some of the expansive legal text that the Japanese government called a "constitution." In the Underworld, laws did exist, and although they were indeed exhaustive and annoying at times, they didn't matter if you were part of a noble family, whether you were descended from some minor clan or the surviving Great Houses. Rias supposed that was rather unfair to an average devil- while they were subject to the Underworld's laws, the nobles could do pretty much everything they wanted- which wasn't much, since etiquette constrained them from acting out. But nobility had its own flair, despite its constraints… unlike in this world, where the power that kings and queens once held were gone! Utterly stamped out and replaced by the horrifying thing that they called 'rule of the people'. Democracy. A most disgusting concept.

Rias shuddered at the thought of democracy in the Underworld.

Of course, she made sure not to mention that to James Bradley. The attorney was extremely prideful about being born in the so-called 'land of the free,' and any thoughts about nobility were sure to be received poorly.

James grunted… and then smiled.

"You're right, Rias," the lawyer said. "Nothing is done in this world because of the law. Which is why when shit _does_ hit the fan, well… that's why we lawyers exist."

Silence.

"You want to go greet the fallen angel?" the American asked.

There was really nothing else to do at this point other than gaze over the living room like the watchdogs they thought themselves to be, so down the stairs they went, like two imperious nobles about to demand everything of their subjects. That comparison was not entirely untrue- Rias herself was obviously a noblewoman, and the lawyer might as well have been part of the American high class.

"Well, well, well," said the fallen angel as soon as she caught sight of Rias and James descending, "it's the Lady Gremory, and the lawyer who fancies himself a lord! What have you got in store for me today? The Five-Pointed Torture? Or some legal trick up your half-assed mortal ass?"

"Silence, Fallen," Akeno said rather calmly, but it was obvious that Rias' Queen was visibly struggling to contain her hate.

But Akeno was only a typical example. The one who had the greatest bone to pick with Raynare was of course, her Pawn, and why wouldn't he? She had killed him, and killed Asia, too, and it was now no secret that Issei had affectations for Asia, and she for him. Of course, there was the matter of Rias' own feelings towards her own Pawn, but that could be disregarded for now.

"Hey, James," Willis Japhon said, waving a hand at his colleague's direction.

James responded in likewise, before settling onto an available cushion that just happened to be situated near Issei and Asia. Rias took her own seat by Akeno, and waited.

It was a long while before James began to speak again.

"We all know what happened last night."

Akeno giggled. "Don't tell me you and Rias slept together."

James arched an eyebrow at Rias, who sighed.

Sometimes Akeno went too far with her _attitude_.

"No, we did not sleep together," Rias grunted, "and whoever thinks so will get a good spanking. Understood?"

Silence. A very awkward silence as most of the people present tried to stifle giggles. Predictably, Kiba and Xenovia stood stoic throughout the rounds of laughter, while Willis, not being able to understand Japanese, looked at everyone with a gaping mouth and arched eyebrow.

Akeno giggled again. "So," she said in perfect English, "what is this whole meeting for? Something important? Something trivial? You're the lawyer, Mr. Bradley, so tell us devils what you want? I'm all ears..."

James grunted. "Raynare."

The Fallen looked at them all, violet eyes playful yet dangerous all the same. She grinned at Willis, before turning her head to address everyone else.

"Lawyer," Raynare said in a smug tone, "what would you want of me?"

"We will be having a guest," the attorney said somberly.

"A guest? When? Where?" Asia piped up. "A guest... would be a welcome change..."

"It would... but the only problem is that said guest is on the government's side."

Rias hissed. She had thought that the Japanese government and its underlings would keep to their abodes, and that the only time that they would rear their ugly heads was when Rias and her associates emerged for trial. But not here, not now. Not ever.

"As master of this mansion, I will not tolerate one of those stinking government officials. If he is already on his way here, then we will meet him with fire and blood."

James was instantly at his feet. "Are you that jumpy around Tokyo's lackeys?! Even if someone from Tokyo _was_ to come here, you would be required to maintain the utmost respect. You know why? Because y'all are under fucking trial. If any of you so much as lift a fucking finger, well, that's going to be put under absolute scrutiny. And said scrutiny will make this dumbass case a living hell. So I'd best make sure that y'all are on your best behavior."

"So is it one of Tokyo's administrators?" Irina questioned, swinging her large pigtails back and forth.

"No, Irina. It's one of the lawyers-"

"Which one?" Akeno asked, smiling seductively the entire time.

James sighed. "I was just about to answer that." Then he noticed the smile on her face. "You think you can bed Gerald Graham? Please. The man would rather bury himself in treatises than even feel any desire towards you. As for Heather, while... I dunno. But it's not Gerald or Heather. It's my brother, Joshua Bradley."

Rias remembered him. He was the quiet one that took notes while Gerald and James pontificated their cases and Heather glared daggers at her peerage.

"Your brother, huh?" Rias remarked. "Well, as befitting my status as a noblewoman, I will make sure that Joshua Bradley is given the proper welcome."

James grunted. "See that your _proper welcome_ stays decent."

And so the preparations started.

* * *

Half an hour later, Rias was reasonably sure that the mansion was presentable. She had assigned Kiba and Koneko to cleaning the mansion's living and dining rooms, removing dust and excess items. Akeno, Irina, and Xenovia helped cook some meals- not too many, but still enough for a small feast. Asia and Issei set up decorations- again, not too many, but enough to liven up the mansion's previously gloomy outlook. Rias watched over the simultaneous operations, both to lend a hand when needed, and also to watch the Fallen, who had not moved from her seat since. Willis and James were busy fetching their legal paraphernalia and sorting through papers to help, but that was a necessary evil- they were lawyers, after all, and despite what Rias was doing, the essence of what she was preparing was still a legal meeting.

Everyone had just finished when James rushed out to open the mansion's gates and welcome in his brother.

Joshua Bradley soon entered the mansion, and Rias bowed slightly.

"Mr. Bradley," she said, shaking the younger Bradley's hand firmly, "my household receives you with a warm welcome."

The lawyer's face held disbelief for a second, before giving way to easygoingness. "Likewise, Lady Gremory. I hope this morning finds you well?"

Such courteousness.

Nevertheless, Rias still had to answer.

"It is," the heiress finally replied, "and I hope that you are well?"

"Yes. It is."

As Joshua greeted the rest of her peerage and sat down, Rias had to note how _full_ Joshua seemed. She had found in real life how siblings tended to be described as lesser versions of their elder counterparts- prominently, her and Sirzechs. It was obvious that they both possessed the fiery crimson hair and sky-blue eyes of House Gremory. They did not have any lesser amount of those two qualities- both Sirzechs and Rias held the noble airs and regal dispositions that signified them as nobles, but Sirzechs, as the future heir, had always displayed a greater amount- perhaps to show confidence to her father's bannermen. But then that was before he had become a Great Satan. These days, although her brother seemed rather burdened by leadership, he still maintained that greatness, that noble quality. Rias kept that, too, but one could always say that Sirzechs always looked more dignified that Rias, however hard she tried to keep that evident on her face.

However, when looking at James and Joshua Bradley, it was rather easy to tell who was more the vibrant of the two.

The younger Bradley's confident smile and fuller face distinguished him from his older brother, who could be spotted perpetually wearing a grim scowl and distinguished by his sallow, somewhat unhealthy-looking sallow face. Joshua's posture was relaxed and casual, while James tended to be rigid, as if he expected harm in every step. His gleaming and rather clean-looking brown hair contrasted sharply against his sibling's oily black locks. Joshua's eyes held a twinkle in them, while James had a sharp, dissecting look about them. He looked more like a James in the prime of his youth, easygoing and exuberant- if James had ever been that. The snappy way that James tend to speak in and his behavior suggested that he had never been like his younger brother. And the accent, too. At least Joshua spoke normal American English, unlike that strange British-American monstrosity that spewed forth from James' lips...

There were a few things that linked them as brothers, however. They had the same eyes- soft brown, and the shape of their faces were essentially identical. And then there was the fact that both of them had their hair worn the same way- long-haired, all the way to the beginnings of their neck, and rather like a big messy mop. To top it all off, their suits were exactly the same color.

All this Rias noticed as she tried to gauge his reaction to her.

Observing was one of the things that she had been taught at an early age. She had been taught to nitpick at other nobles' mannerisms and wear, to gauge what they were thinking. No doubt the other heirs of the Underworld had been taught the same thing. It wasn't a life-or-death thing, but the skills of observation and deduction was a useful one indeed, something that she was sure that James and Joshua both possessed. Willis... not so much. The tax attorney didn't look like he cared for anything other than what he was currently focused on.

With a sigh, Rias turned her attention to making sure that everything was in motion, right where she wanted it.

And so the pursuit of perfection went on.

* * *

"James," Joshua said with a smile.

James scowled. His younger brother had always been one to smile and act like a dumbass. Rather like a certain tax attorney James knew...

"Josh," James said, embracing his sibling, "how's it been?"

"Eh, could be better. The JST, though... _thirteen_ hours ahead of New York! How are you even alive, James?"

That was a question that had its own merits, given everything that had just happened last night.

"It's hard to say," he replied at last, sighing. "JST feels like a cock stuck up my fucking ass."

"Yeah, you could say that," Joshua agreed heartily, "Life in itself is a pain in the ass."

They sat down. Akeno came up with a tray of tea and cookies, and served them with a smile.

"If there is anything you require, just ask," the Queen said. "Your wish is my command."

"Oh, I'm good, Miss Himejima," his brother remarked, taking some of the tea. "You want some?"

James grunted, like he had been doing for the past hour or so. "If I wanted tea, I would have gotten some. Coffee, please- black, as strong as you can fucking make it!"

The coffee arrived, and every devil and Church exorcist soon started slowly shuffling back into the living room to meet with the new arrival. James caught glares of hostility, which was something he couldn't blame them for- after all, Joshua _was_ currently being employed by the Japanese government, and the government was the one that wanted to murder every devil and Church exorcist in this room.

Awkward silence ensued.

James sipped his coffee. His order for strong coffee had not gone unfulfilled, and boy, was it strong!

 _Hateful_ silence, now.

James quaffed half his mug.

"Erm..." Joshua muttered, "there's got to be a reason why I'm here, right?"

A laugh, hateful and bitter. It came from Xenovia.

"If we had such a reason, you would be dead, already, _traitor_."

"Traitor? I am no traitor. You're the traitor, serving and protecting monsters."

"Monsters?" Irina rose from her seat, crisp British accent showing through with each and every sound that emitted from the girl's mouth. "Monsters? We're agents of the Catholic Church, sworn to defend Heaven's interests. You and your ilk are the traitors, helping the Japanese government to stop-"

"No, Gerald was hired, and I got dragged along, what're-"

"Shut up, all of you," James grunted, setting his coffee mug on the glass table that was situated between the four couches that everyone was sitting on. He rose. "Shut the hell up."

Irina and Xenovia looked at him with anger in their eyes, hands reaching for blades that could be pulled out of thin air in milliseconds.

"He's here because I asked him to be here," James said, sighing. "You should stop threatening government workers like that. The last time such threats were made, y'all got your sorry asses landed in jail."

He looked around the room to let the effect of what he had just said sink in.

"Okay, okay," Joshua said, raising his two hands in surrender. "That's good and all, but why am I here?"

James sighed, and explained. He explained the events of last night. He gave a quick backstory on Raynare, based on the evidence that Rias and her peers had given him before the attack. He described the attack and its casualties, noting the fortune of Asia's Sacred Gear in treating the injuries. He retold his own assault on the fallen angel, sending both of them plummeting to the mansion's lawn. He explained Rias' last charge against the Fallen, and was just about to explain the fact that the Fallen had gone a date with Willis before the tax attorney shook his head.

For once, Willis had shown some sense.

It was something that had to be either explained or gleaned over at some point, but could be left out for now.

"So what does this have to do with me?" Joshua said at last. "If you didn't notice, I don't really matter on the scale of doing things. Gerald, obviously, would make sense as someone to tell this to, and Heather, too, since she commands some authority. The court is to be notified, of course, but come on, man, why me?"

James looked at him, and sighed. Sometimes the man was really slow to understand things.

"You're my little brother, and I trust you."

The attorney's face widened, then contorted in hate. James arched an eyebrow in curious surprise.

"Josh, what's-"

"You bastard," Joshua muttered. "You sorry bastard."

"I am not a bastard!" James retorted hotly. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You, obviously," Joshua growled. "You think that because I'm your little brother that you can awe and impress me? You sonofabitch, you're just scared to go up against Gerald and Heather, aren't you? You're scared of Gerald Graham, courtroom legend and giant, and you're scared of Heather, who'll slap your face off for siding with these here devils in the first place! So what's the only option, huh? You resort to me. Your little brother. Sure, you raised me, and you made sure I did everything right, but that does not mean you keep that hold on me forever and ever! I'm a grown man now, twenty-five, able to make a difference in this world! Goddamn it, James, I'm not your baby brother anymore!"

James was positively incensed. He had called his brother over because he trusted him, and would have rather told him confidential information than either of the other two lawyers that represented the government's interests. And besides, anything he could say to Joshua was sure to be relayed to Gerald or Heather. In that case, it would've been the same as if Gerald and Heather had roused their asses to the mansion all along.

What Joshua was doing was being a little _bitch_ , and James intended to tell him that.

Rias stood up suddenly and snapped her fingers.

"For lawyers and adults," the redhead remarked, "you two are remarkably immature."

"Me? Immature?" Joshua exclaimed, "It's my brother who's being immature! He thinks he can control me because we were close as kids! Goddamn it, devil, why can't things be easy for once?"

"Easy?" Rias responded, arching an eyebrow. "Easy? I'm the one under trial courtesy of your client, and you seek to ask me on my opinion of _easy_?"

A single laugh from the couch cut through the heated arguments like a knife through butter. James looked to see the source of the laugh, and it came from Raynare, the person who had driven this entire meeting into existence.

"That," said Raynare, pointing towards James and Joshua, "is why humans can't get anything done. Mortals, always fighting each other over the stupidest things..."

She laughed again.

"Us? Fighting each other over the stupidest things? What about your Great War?" Joshua retorted, shaking an angry fist in the air.

"Now that's a conflict on a different scale," the Fallen responded, the tone of her voice becoming dangerous now as she rose from her seat, "and one thing you shouldn't disturb, mortal! You little slime-sucking wretch, I was high and mighty long before Adam was made in Heaven's image!"

"And yet," Xenovia quipped, "you fell from High Heaven, and you are here today."

Raynare rounded on the exorcist, claws bared as she fixed the Italian girl in her apoplectic gaze. "How dare you-"

The room erupted into a cacophony as weapons were picked up and swords drawn. Instantly Raynare found herself with two blades at her throat, and half a dozen random implements like flower vases and fireplace shovels being raised against her.

Amidst the chaos, a certain tax attorney stood up. He stood up and looked around before coughing his throat and speaking in English.

" _M80s_ ," said Willis, "stop _noscoping_ each other. In case you haven't notice, we _swag_ lawyers have to go read some pretty _lit_ papers and _quickscope_ them. Besides, I'm getting tired of people trying to roast each other, so let's _sanik_ this meeting. We all have to go fast, mah dudes. Don't let me use my _banhammer_..."

The room fell silent as those who could speak English tried to comprehend just exactly what Willis Japhon had just said.

Except James. Two years' worth of being subjected to _dank memes_ had expanded his knowledge and vocabulary of the _dank_ community.

"What he means is that we lawyers have some important business to take care of," James replied, grabbing Joshua by the shoulders and motioning for Willis to come over.

Up the stairs they went, dress shoes making sharp clicks on the marble floor as they marched by like soldiers on a death march. They turned corners and hallways, until they came upon James' simple room, replete with all the proper materials for a lawyer's convenience- desk, pencil, briefcase, and a legal pad.

Joshua looked around, before scoffing.

"The devils keep a posh mansion like this, and yet they give you a simple bedroom to sleep in."

"For your information," James responded, sighing, "I chose this particular room. You may know I don't like sleeping like a king."

Willis sighed. "Mah dudes, can you stop trying to roast each other? Otherwise it's you guys who are gonna get _rekt_."

"Why am I here?" Joshua protested, again, sitting on the bed. "You're just a little pussy, aren't you?"

James sighed. Joshua could be a stubborn little bitch sometimes.

"Joshua, have you ever heard of wiretapping?"

His brother's reaction was instantaneous. "You're not suggesting that the company phones aren't safe?"

"Aren't safe? Josh, they're company phones. The government took your company phones when you got here, eh?"

Joshua fished out his phone, a BlackBerry. "Are you crazy, James? You're saying every call I made in this country with this phone is being listened to by the Japs?"

It was a suspicion that James had at first, and it was not necessarily true, but it served two purposes. One, it could be true. Two, it put fear into Joshua, and helped bind them together, despite the fact that they were on different sides.

But for all he knew, the Japanese government could be doing this legally, in what was known as lawful interception. The only problem with that was that you needed a court order to do so, and the High Court wasn't giving out any of those anytime soon. Not that Judge Yamamoto or any of his comrades couldn't be doing that- it just seemed to James that they wouldn't.

If there _was_ wiretapping, it would have to be the Supreme Court. Either that, or the wiretapping would be illegal.

"That's all," James said at last. "Go."

"That's _it_?" his younger brother said, looking at him in disbelief. "You wasted two hours of my life just so you could tell me that you suspect that the Japanese government is wiretapping our corporate phones? You piece of _shit_. You're going crazy. In fact, you shouldn't even be competent to stand-"

"Guys," Willis interjected, waving his hands around to garner attention. "This wasn't useless after all, because we got papers to give you. Tons of papers. An awesome amount of papers, if you will."

"Willis," Joshua muttered, "shut the hell up. You don't even have any papers on you-"

"Yes, we do!" the tax attorney whined, "We have interrogatories for your client to answer!"

Willis wasn't lying, for James and Willis had indeed come up with a set of interrogatories for the government to answer late last night. It was a terrible job- while Rias and the rest got to sleep in their soft beds, they, the lawyers, had to stay up until three in the morning creating-and then crossing off- questions for the Japs. What was worse was that this trial had started with them- the defendants- being severely disadvantaged.

Why was this a thing? Because no one could doubt the fact that Rias Gremory and her associates had ended the lives of two hundred and fifty-seven Japanese soldiers. Proof? The bodies were in the morgue, and in terrible condition, to boot. James had yet to receive their autopsies, but he knew that they were going to be absolutely dismal. And what was he to do about it? _Nothing_. It wasn't even as bad as OJ. At least the ADA's actually had a strong case against OJ until Cochran and the Dream Team turned the tide. People called OJ's trial the 'trial of the century.' But James had a stinking feeling that _this_ would be the trial of the century- and it would be called that because of how fast James would lose against the government when trial started, wiretapping or no wiretapping.

But he had a duty to Rias- he was her attorney, and by the oaths that he had taken when graduating out of law school, he would fulfill his role as the devil's legal advocate to the best of his ability.

"Interrogatories, huh?" Joshua said, taking the paper. "Well, this'll be interesting."

He turned to leave.

"And James?" Joshua said from over his shoulder as he turned to leave, "try not to be a jerkass every time you actually have something to say, eh?"

"Fuck you," James called after him.

To James' own surprise, he found that for the first time in his life, he really meant it.

* * *

Long after Joshua Bradley had left, Rias Gremory sat back on a comfortable chair and tried to assess the situation at hand.

Nothing much had been done- leastways, that was what James had said. They had, however, began retaliating against the Japanese government, which came in the form of producing an interrogatory for the government. It was a very small step, but it was still a step.

At James' suggestion, Rias had begun to read over the trial of O.J. Simpson, a former American football player, NBC broadcaster- and accused murderer, among other things. Here was a trial that had been famously declared the 'trial of the century' for its media coverage, and the influential attorneys representing the defendants. It had grown so famous that many casual television viewers of the trial had been transformed into 'trial junkies', and at one point, Russian President Boris Yeltsin had actually asked then-President Bill Clinton if 'OJ did it.'

Giving Rias the OJ trial's basics was good and all, but the devil heiress had one important question- how did OJ relate to her own trial?

James chuckled.

"This isn't an open trial. It's not a _secret_ _trial_ either, and you should thank your Great Satans for that- secret trials are something usually used by dictatorships when they want to preserve their so-called _national security_. This trial is something that threatens Japanese national security- and the world by extension- but I guess the government's under pressure- from Jeffrey and the rest of the West, most likely- for a fair trial. Nevertheless, it's still closed, and you heard Yamamoto's gag order. At least you _get_ a lawyer."

"True, true," Xenovia muttered in response, "but when the government of Japan has a strong case against you... well, tell me, lawyer, how do you win?"

The attorney scowled. "You're right, exorcist. I'm pretty sure Johnnie fucking Cochran couldn't save y'all now."

He turned to the staircase.

"If you are so confident that we are going to lose," said Rias, incensed, "then why do I have to pay you? I should've spent the money funding an escape attempt and retreating to the Underworld, where human laws do not apply."

James stopped, and turned slowly like someone whose name has been called but fears the speaker. But when his face came into view, it seemed as if he was having a shaking fit. With his teeth buried into his lip and his eyelids twitching, James Bradley looked almost apoplectic.

"Because," the lawyer growled, "I have a plan. The government may have a good case, but they just don't have it all."

"And?" Rias inquired, arching one of her eyebrows.

" _That_ problem with not having it all is something I plan to exploit. Good day to you, Rias."

And then he marched up the staircase and out of Rias' view.

Rias sighed, and looked over at her peerage, the exorcists, and Raynare. She felt responsible, somehow, for _all_ of them, even Raynare, and the truth of that made her put her head in her hands. For it was true- as the so-called 'leader' of the defendants, her peerage and the exorcists would be judged based upon how _she_ acted. Any small slip-up in public would be pounced upon by Gerald Graham and his fellows, and as the American police liked to say, "anything that can be used against you will be used against you in court."

It was so, so tough, and Rias hated it.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Willis Japhon said out of the blue, sitting down beside her.

"It does," said Rias. "The situation at hand is awful."

"Yeah, the situation does suck, but what sucks even more is that this chapter is filler material."

"Excuse me?" the devil heiress replied, somewhat confused as to what Willis was implying.

"Like, normally, life isn't all that exciting, but even a novice could tell this is filler. But don't worry. It gets better. There'll be more fights to come, and more revelations to be made, and more character development to be expressed. It's all good, Rias."

"What?!" Rias exclaimed, thoroughly confused now. Apparently the tax attorney was comparing everything they had just gone through to a story. But if it was a story, then the author- whether it was God or whoever else happened to be writing this cosmic tale- had to be a cruel one. A very cruel one, considering all the atrocious acts that they had committed and in turn had been forced to endure. It would be like the ultimate cruel joke- that the terrible world that they were living in was revealed to be the brainchild of some fool with a word processor.

"Seriously, though," said the tax attorney, shaking his head, "it will get better. That's how life works. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fallen angel to go chase down and depose on paper."

Up on the stairs, Raynare gave Willis a lecherous smile, though said smile faded when the fallen angel's gaze passed over Rias.

"Gotta go fast," said Willis, patting her shoulder lightly as he stood up to leave and _chase down_. "Be well, Rias Gremory."

Rias only sighed in response, for she was thinking that Willis Japhon was right- it did _suck_ , and as a certain foul-mouthed lawyer that she knew said once, it sucked the big one.


	12. What Went Wrong?

_Just a few more lines of code…_

Willis Japhon was coding a script using Greasemonkey's script interface on Mozilla Firefox. When he was finished with the script, he would be able to get a fully detailed and interactive report on his Youtube-channel-including predictions of how much revenue each video was expected to earn. Youtube already had an embryonic version of that, but who needed to wait for Google's slow advances when one could DIY it? The only drawback was that said reports only predicted and estimated with the values that he had inputted into the program, but then again, he could always change them…

Oh, right. The thing was, Willis _did_ run a Youtube gaming channel. It was named _'Dat_Tax_Lawyer_Doe_ and had around fifty thousand subscribers- mostly twelve-year olds. That was alright, though- it still generated revenue, and though he didn't advertise his firm on his channel, as a result of his gaming work, James and Willis both got plenty of calls from prospective clients who, when asked, said that they had heard of the Yonkers-based firm because "my kid- or kids- watches some lawyer play videogames on the Internets."

"Finished!" Willis exclaimed when he had inputted the last few bracketed commands.

"Finished, huh?" said a sultry female voice from behind him. "Finished with whatever you're doing on your human devices?"

"FYI, Raynare, it's called a computer. And I'm coding on the computer, which allows me to modify the computer's software, which is like the computer's display, graphics, and instructions for the whole shebang. There's many operating systems to choose from- Linux, Mac OS, Windows- although I prefer Tor. It's secretive, and although many people say it can be hacked by the government, with the proper programs, all Jeffrey Bradley's horses and all his men couldn't penetrate that modified OS."

"I'll penetrate your OS," Raynare muttered, rolling over and exposing her bare back to him once more.

"That's not how you use an OS!" Willis protested. "OS's are used for operating and commanding computers! They're not used for, uh... _questionable_ things."

"I'm sure they are," the fallen angel groaned again.

He exited the program and set his computer to sleep, before standing up and sitting on the bed, looking at Raynare, who still had her back turned to him, pillow wrapped around her head.

"Look, Raynare, I know it's difficult, but you have to appear before the High Court! Conference date is today, and you just can't miss it!"

" _Miss it_?" Raynare said, lacing each word with hate. "Why should I, created by God Himself, have to appear before some panel of mortals? Why should I have to do so? I am not a native of this Earth, therefore I am not subject to whatever you mortals write on those rotting pieces of parchment that they call _law_."

"Unfortunately," Willis countered, "even if you weren't born here, that doesn't mean that you aren't supposed to not follow the laws that were set down on those rotting pieces of parchment. Take an illegal immigrant, for example, back in the United States. If they kill someone, they get tried, too. Just because they aren't American citizens or don't have a green card doesn't mean they don't get tried for what they do. Whadya think Jeffrey does, send 'em back across the border?"

"That's incredibly racist," the fallen angel replied in turn, wrapping a blanket around herself and turning to face him, her violet eyes gleaming in annoyance. "Do you seriously assume that every stinking mortal that enters your country is of Latino ethnicity?"

Sigh. That had not been what he meant.

"Like, it could be the Mexican border, or the Canadian border, or wherever the heck they came from. But that isn't my point. The point is, you have to come to this conference!"

Raynare looked at Willis with a gaze that was as content as a cat that's had its fill of cream, but he detected something else in those lovely violet eyes. Something _worse._ Like there was an utterly evil ulterior motive masquerading beyond that contented, satisfied, whatever-you-wanted-to-call-it gaze.

"You know I don't want to go, but I'll go if you say so, Willis. However, you must know this about me- I'm a very... ah... _quid-pro-quo_ person. Scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours. Only, it's not only my back that I want you to scratch."

"That's oddly specific," he answered cautiously. "Pretty odd, if I must say so myself."

"Considering we just went on a date two days ago, I'm pretty sure that qualifies you and I for more... _intimate_ things."

Oh no. Oh NO.

He was going to protest again, to tell her to stop, but it was too late. Her long fingers grasped the blanket that she had wrapped around herself for decency, and begun wrenching it off, revealing flesh. Lots of it. Copious amounts of it. Amounts that he was very, very, uncomfortable with.

In his haste to scramble away, Willis fell off the bed and landed on the floor with a muffled thump. But he didn't care. All thought was focused on trying to get away from this woman.

"You don't know what you're doing," he said, but it was more to steady himself than to ward off Raynare. "Please don't!"

The blanket had already gone to her waist, and Raynare began to wrench it off further.

"Contrary to your beliefs, I _do_ know what I am doing," the fallen angel said with relish. An animalistic grin was on her face, revealing fangs and a mouth of white, gleaming teeth. The blanket was sliding past her hips, and as it went, her grin grew wider. "And when I'm done with you, you'll be glad that I agreed to go with you to that so-called pretrial conference."

No. No. NO. This was not happening. This was not HAPPENING!

An attic door suddenly swung open, making Willis jump. For a second he feared that it was Rias, with her cold noble ways and haughty gaze. But when he looked, it was not Rias. Actually, the other person was someone that should have not been witness to this as well, but, oh well- better _him_ than Rias.

"What the flying _fuck_ is going on here?!" exclaimed James Bradley. "Don't you what shit this could entail? Someone tell me what the fuck is going on, or someone gets it!"

Raynare grinned. "Lawyer," she said, not even bothering to cover herself, "It's _so_ nice of you to appear. Won't you join us?"

"No _fucking_ thanks," James snapped. "I have a wife, you whore. Anyway, the pretrial conference is in half-an-hour, and if we don't get our asses there, we're fucked. So get dressed and get your asses into the car! And put some clothes on!"

"But I'm wearing my suit!" Willis protested. He was. He had put it on after waking up, just so that James wouldn't bother him about things like this.

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't let a whore sleep in your bed. This is the shit you get for your so-called _gratitude_ , Willis. Tell your _pet_ to get her cute little ass out of bed and downstairs in ten, because it's going to take twenty minutes tops to get from this hunk of devil architecture to the High Court! Get your asses in gear and _move_!"

Then James Bradley was gone, swinging the attic door with so much force that dust rained from the frame.

Despite the profanity of it all, James was right- Willis _had_ taken pity on Raynare. Apparently, she had deigned to sleep in one of the closets, since Rias had closed all the rooms to her. Which was cruel, yet all so right, considering all the stuff that she had done in anger against Rias. But it was still cruel, at least to Willis. So he had found her there, and offered to let her sleep in his bed. And one could guess how that had led to this morning's events.

"Come on," Willis said at last. "We gotta go."

Raynare looked at him wistfully, as if he was the key to some long-lost weapon. "You sure about that, mortal?"

Yes. He was sure. For the five-thousandth time.

He stood up and walked over to Raynare, extending a hand, which she grasped firmly. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she got out of bed.

"Let's go," Raynare said, violet eyes twinkling as she locked eyes with him.

"Okay," Willis said, not quite comprehending what the angel had just said.

Because, you see, he was warming up to her, and already unconsciously accepting the fallen angel as his friend. In that moment Willis Japhon didn't care if the woman whose hand he was grasping happened a psychopath who had masterminded the spread of the Black Plague in 1346. He didn't care that she was a woman that had slain Issei Hyoudou and Asia Argento- and many others- in cold blood just to gain personal power from the situation. He was adopting her as his friend, which was something that Raynare hadn't planned either. And in her defense, she, too, found him rather endearing and 'cute.' But how can a hardened psychopath find another person deserving of affection, much less a bumbling, way-too-innocent-for-his-own-good lawyer? That was something that neither of them could answer.

Instead, the two of them left the attic hand-in-hand, one happy that he had made a new friend, the other already scheming to use that affection for her own plans- and rather quite disturbed that she was scheming in that way.

As they say, difficult times made for strange bedfellows.

* * *

"Are you seriously nodding off on me?"

James Bradley was startled out of a pleasant daydream by those very words. The daydream, which had involved him and Claire, was a pornographic sort in which James had been having Claire in every way a man could have a woman. And then some more. It was a satisfying dream, and one extremely vivid as well, for it was a byproduct of the stress of the past few days. That was right. This trial was barely a week old, and already so many things had happened.

"Screw you," James muttered, opening his eyelids. He was greeted by the sight of Heather Huynh glaring at him with her teeth bared and her hands balled in fists, one of which happened to be lying on the defense table.

"No _thanks_ ," Heather responded. "I have a fiancée anyway."

Apparently, the woman didn't know the difference between a _fiancé_ and a _fiancée_ , but he ignored it. To confirm Heather's declaration, he also noticed a ring on her left hand.

"So what do you want?" he said, flashing his own marriage band. "Conference won't start until nine-twenty. That leaves lot of time to sit around and organize files and prepare for what's going to happen."

"Don't you think I _know_ that?" the Vietnamese woman snarled, gripping the defense table.

"You don't look like you do," James replied offhandedly, hoisting his briefcase onto the surface. "If you don't mind, I've got papers to sort. And besides, where's Gerald?"

Indeed, Gerald Graham could not be seen anywhere near the plaintiff's table. There was only Heather, who was currently trying to get something from him, and Joshua, who was sorting through papers like James was.

"Gerald came down with a severe case of the flu, so he can't be here today. Which leaves me in his place. And I'll think you'll find me a more apt opponent than Gerald is."

Seriously? Some no-account Vietnamese bitch with an IQ below 40 and a huge temper? He would take the legend that was Gerald over her any day.

"Go back to your table," James said, sitting up straight now. "Stop bothering me. It's unethical, and it's ugly. Just like you."

To be honest, Heather Huynh didn't look _that_ bad, but he'd known some women- aside from Claire- who were much better-looking than Heather anyway.

In response, Heather kept talking. "You won't ever see, won't you? Defending _devils_ is wrong. Why are you serving Hell's agenda? You're a human, too!"

James ignored her tirade as he sorted through his files. There wasn't really much to present to the court at this point other than a few verbal statements and Raynare herself. On the grand scale of important things to do in this trial, this little conference wasn't that important, but every court appearance that Rias and her associates made would be scrutinized closely by the judges and the plaintiff's team.

Oh yes. He had decided to stop using "Rias Gremory, Shidou Irina, Xenovia Quarta, and Rias Gremory's peerage" in any paperwork pertaining to the case. That was too tacky and rather strange to type or write constantly, so he had dropped that and began using 'Rias Gremory and her associates' when he wanted to make a point- usually, when using the generic term 'the defendants' did not suffice.

"What are you looking at?!" Heather hissed loudly in Japanese. Over on the judges' bench, Yamamoto, Kazunari, and Otonashi raised their heads at the disturbance.

"Please, Miss Huynh, I didn't mean any-" Asia began to stutter.

"Don't you 'Miss Huynh' me, you filthy devil!" Heather snarled, gripping the defense table even harder this time. "You think you're all good to go just because you actually managed to get a lawyer to represent you, eh? Well, tough luck! James Bradley is the scum of the Earth, and his name will be polluted forever and ever for representing you abominations! You should-"

"Come _on_ , Heather," called out Joshua's voice from the plaintiff's table. "I'm not one to criticize you, but we've got to prep. Besides, the judges just overheard your entire conversation."

Judge Yamamoto's disappointed gaze was all that was needed to drive Heather back to the plaintiff's table.

James turned back to the defendants' table, scanning his clients quickly. Asia was crying now, with Issei comforting her. Muffled sobs and broken sentence fragments could be heard emitting from Asia Argento, most of them dealing with the fact that Asia hadn't done anything wrong to instigate Heather's fury. Which was true.

"Asia," he said in what he supposed was an awkward attempt to console the girl, "there's nothing to worry about it. Ms. Huynh is just being a big jerk about it, okay? She's just jealous because she doesn't get as highly paid as I do for representing Rias. That's all. Just a big selfish, not-so-nice lady, eh?"

Not too bad in his opinion, since he didn't do a lot of comforting in his life. Even the consolation that he had given Claire was few and far in between, because James Bradley wasn't one for kindness. Far from it. He considered himself a shark, one that looked for the blood in the water- dark, red and raw.

Judge Yamamoto rapped his gavel suddenly, despite the fact that his fellow judges were still doing whatever the hell they were doing with their dockets.

"While I accept the fact that this conference will start in nine minutes, I must emphasize the notion that there is to be civility in this courtroom, even when the official record has not been ceased or begun. That means _you_ , Miss Huynh. Belligerence of that kind will not be tolerated, for are we not all members of the legal profession, sworn to defend what is just and true? Are courts not the only place where the rich and the poor, the powerful and the disadvantaged, and now, the human and the devil, are not made equal?"

James Bradley hadn't heard shit like that since he read _To Kill A Mockingbird_ in high school.

"I'll not challenge that, Your Honor," Heather replied at last. Reluctance was evident in her tone.

"And I as well," James affirmed, sitting up straighter.

"I must state my own opinion." Rias said, her crimson-red hair glowing as she stood up to address the court. "I, too, agree with Your Honor when I say that I believe that the courts of humanity do make everyone who enters them equal. However, it is not devilkind who is the disadvantaged one here."

It took a full minute for the devil's statement to sink in, but when it did, a lot of faces recoiled in distaste- mainly, the three judges, the plaintiff's counsel, and the exorcists. James and the court reporter shared the same passive, almost detached look, but inside, he was rather pissed. When you were the defendant in a sensitive case, it was common logic to not piss off the judges. Especially when you were a devil charged with leading an attack that killed two-hundred-and-fifty-seven JSDF personnel.

But then, if one played your cards right and pushed the judges with the right stick, well...

He turned back to Rias, who now was wearing a smile, courtesy of the smart statement that she had just made. It wasn't a grin- far from it, but it was a smile, which was a start. One's speaking abilities help to score some points with the judge, and while Judge Yamamoto had shown himself to be one of those ideal judges who were stern and firm with both sides, he _did_ seem ever so slightly disposed towards Rias and her case, as shown by the judge's granting of Rias' request to stay at her mansion. Maybe things were going his way after all, as early as they were.

Now, the only thing left on the agenda was for Willis Japhon to complete his end of the bargain.

 _If_ he could, that was.

* * *

"Raynare, it's not _that_ bad!"

Under much coaxing and sweet talk, Willis Japhon had managed to inject Raynare with the necessary dose of the Suppressant, preventing her from manifesting her spears of light. Nevertheless, she could still take flight and form claws from her nails, since those were part of her essential anatomy.

Which was why he had a straitjacket and cart on hand, but the problem was that Raynare refused to be injected further.

"It is! I already have that foul concoction floating around in my body, so why more of those drugs?"

Because the court said so. But he couldn't put it like that. That was too blunt and too rude.

He was in a back room of the High Court, with a wide array of chemicals usually reserved for tranquilization. Large animal-tranquilization. Court order had stated that "the aforementioned must be in a non-belligerent state." And the court had provided such chemicals for his use, although there were a few suspicious-looking needles that had 'Use only in last resort' written in sloppy English on them.

"Come on, Raynare," he said, picking up one of the barbiturate-saturated hypodermic needles, "it's just a needle!"

"Just a needle?" the angel exclaimed incredulously. "I'm sorry, but I don't like any of _that_ being stuck in me. However, I'd say yes to-"

That was all he needed. He swung the needle in an upward arc, jabbing it directly into her shoulder. Raynare shrieked in pain, and attempted to wrench the needle out of her, but whatever was in the needle was working, because her movements became sluggish almost instantly after that. But not sluggish enough.

Working quickly, Willis stuck seven more needles in her, and he was quite surprised that he wasn't using the standard tranquilizer, but actually using the suspicious looking needles to render her fit for court. Even when her head lolled off to one side and she moaned for him to stop, he kept sticking 'em in her.

It took twelve needles before he managed to incapacitate Raynare- seven of those suspicious looking needles, which he suspected was pentobarbital, a chemical used to incur unconsciousness before executions. The other five were the failed tranquilizers that had only had a cursory effect on Raynare, which kinda sucked. Even with the pentobarbital and the tranquilizer, she was still somewhat conscious.

He wrapped her in the straitjacket, which was just that- it restricted only her upper body, leaving her miniskirt-covered legs out. But that was good enough- she would be incapacitated enough not to use them.

After tying Raynare to the cart, he checked his phone. It had taken nearly twenty minutes to complete the process, and now the conference was about to begin. He had better not be late!

Plugging in his headphones and blasting the National Anthem of the Soviet Union through them, Willis Japhon wheeled Raynare out of the back room, ignoring the stares of the employees that walked through the halls of the High Court of Tokyo.

" _Nas_... _torzhestvu_... _Kommunizma_... _vedyot_!"

Communists were pretty cool and all, but he would only give up his American citizenship and become a card-carrying member of the Party if the _Communist Manifesto_ helped get him to the courtroom on time.

* * *

"Start the record," Judge Yamamoto said, waving his gavel in the court reporter's direction.

The court reporter promptly began clacking away on her stenotype.

"It has been brought to my attention that there was an assault of some kind on the residence that the defendant and her associates were staying at. Apparently, the assault partially succeeded, because the assailant managed to get past the mansion's defenses, providing there _were_ barriers both magical and mundane, yes, Miss Gremory?"

Rias nodded her assent.

"Then, how did the assailant get past these barriers?"

"A small error, Your Honor, an error that almost led to our deaths. Of course, it has been rectified."

The judge swept over the issue soon enough, rapping his gavel as if he was recording the fact that Rias had acknowledged there was an error.

"This is why I had specifically asked and requested for a guard detail. You and your associates specifically denied that request, and against my better judgement and the howling cries of the National Diet, I granted your request. You _do_ know that the National Diet is opposed to you and your associates staying in your own lodging, right? It is only because they respect my authority as a judge that they don't petition either the Prime Minister or the Emperor to do something about it. And now my judgement has been proven wrong. Give me a reason why I should not put you in prison for your own safety."

Rias looked at the judge. The man did not look angry, only disappointed, like a father to a truant child. Under different circumstances, Rias would laugh it off. And she still could. She could pull off an escape to the Underworld anytime and never step foot on human Earth again. However, that had three consequences- one, it would irreversibly damage relations between the Underworld and the human governments, newly aware of the fact that supernatural beings existed. Two, it would be incredibly selfish, since it would mean that Irina and Xenovia would be left to the wrath of Tokyo. Despite the fact that they weren't part of her peerage, and were in fact fundamentally opposed to everything she stood for, they had fought beside her against the Japanese. Not to mention that Issei and Asia, the two newest members of her peerage, would never get to see the human world again- something that they clearly held dear. And three, any of her fellow devil nobles looking to expand their peerages would be hunted down the moment they stepped on Earth's soil.

All of that was something that Rias could not have, so she stayed put.

"There is no reason, Your Honor," Rias finally replied. "All but the reason that I gave Mr. Bradley, who told you about it, which was something that you granted, Your Honor."

James nodded. "Indeed, Your Honor- you did assent to that."

"Yes, yes, yes, I did." the judge said, now annoyed. "Fine, then. We'll address this later at some point. However, the main feature of this conference is this assailant. What is the assailant's species, if they are not human? Their intent? The damage done? Tell me, you were the one there."

"Your Honor-" James began, but he was silenced by the judge.

"Unless I am mistaken, the details would be best served by the one who actually commanded and led the battle. Or did you fight, too?"

"He did, Your Honor," Koneko said in her typical soft tone, her emotionless gaze matching Yamamoto's concerned eyes. "He was the one that turned the tide."

"He did?" the judge on the left of Yamamoto said, an eyebrow arched. "He fought?"

"Yes, I did," James said, sighing, "and I damn sure almost got killed. Had it not been for Miss Gremory and her associates coming at the last moment, well, I think she would have to find a new attorney."

"This is grossly unacceptable!" Heather screeched from the plaintiff's table, her face red with rage. "With all due respect, Your Honors, we can't have a situation where the counsel for either party are threatened at virtually all times of the day! In fact, on behalf of the Japanese government, I have filed a motion requesting protective custody of Rias Gremory and her associates. It was something that we would file anyway, but given that we have now an aborted attempt to murder the defendants, I request that this motion be put into place immediately!"

Rias glared at the Vietnamese woman. _They had been planning this all along! Curse the fools, they didn't realize how important it was for her not to be locked up in some penitentiary!_

James stood up, anger ever-present in his face. "Your Honor, this is _absurd_! My clients have more than enough power to fend for themselves, and you are requesting that they be put in prison? Your Honors, think about it. Assuming that my clients are placed in a bloody prison, then whatever wants to kill them will have to tear through the prison itself, killing both inmates and security guards, which means-"

The judge on the right rapped his gavel. "You know what I hate about you Americans?" the man said, clearly annoyed.

"Your system is based around arguing. Lots and lots of arguing, while the judge sits there trying to mediate the disputes. I've read of fights going on in the courtroom because one attorney disagreed with the next. Well, you can keep your foul ways in your so-called _democratic_ country. You Americans should have not meddled with our country in 1947, stripping the Emperor of power and making it according to your white wishes. Here in Japan, you write briefs delegating what you think is right and wrong, and we judges examine and rule based on the Constitution, however American-influenced it is. And now we have the supernatural problem. This is unacceptable, and I haven't even got to the fact that no one has told me or my fellows who or what the assailant on your accursed mansion _IS_?!"

" _Order in the court_!" Yamamoto exclaimed, rapping his gavel. "That was dictum, was it not?"

"Yes, that was dictum!" the judge on the right- Otonashi, that was his name, right- almost screamed. "Do you think I would be dumb enough to actually state that as a ruling?"

"But all the same," said the voice of Joshua Bradley, who had been silent until now. "By doing so, Your Honors, Judge Otonashi has shown that he is biased to the fact that foreign counsel represent both parties. That in itself is of little consequence, but must be noted."

"Consider it noted," Judge Yamamoto said harshly, to Otonashi's fury.

A gavel suddenly slapped against the bench, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. It came from the judge on the left, who, contrary to Otonashi, had a softer look on his face. But that softness did not fool Rias. Worry was under it all the same.

"You said the devils had full control over their powers, right?" said Judge Kazunari, addressing James. The worry was evident in his tone.

"Yes... yes I did." James said glumly, for reasons Rias could not understand.

"You pledged to administer the Suppressant at the opportune time to nullify your clients' supernatural powers, yet at the time of this assault they were not under the influence of the drug?"

"Ermm... Yes, Your Honor, though I was planning to administer the Suppressant on them immediately afterwards- I was getting a little carried away with obtaining a written deposition from my defendants, and as I was going to get the Suppressant, the assault began. As you can see, my clients' powers allowed us to repulse the assault and survive. Otherwise we would be dead, and the government would not have a case."

"Very well," Kazunari responded. "Now to change the subject- you, devil. Yes, you, Miss Gremory. Do you or do you not wish to press charges against the accused?"

That was rather surprising. She would like to press charges; would like to do far more than press charges. She wanted to do what she should've done at that church. And she wanted to do it _now_.

But as she opened her mouth to assent to pressing charges, she spotted James Bradley giving her a very odious stare. He was actually mouthing _no_.

"No," Rias responded, against her better judgement. She looked at Judge Kazunari for effect. "I do not wish to press charges."

"No," her peerage said in affirmation of their master's wishes, and after a moment of thoughtful silence, Irina and Xenovia nodded their assent.

"Good," said Judge Kazunari. "Very well. Bring out the accused!"

At that very moment, the doors to the courtroom flung open.

Willis Japhon wheeled something big into the courtroom on what seemed to be a cart designed for hauling large boxes. On the cart was a person, restrained in a white straitjacket. Rias recognized the person instantly, for the person was a woman, the very same woman that had perpetrated the attack, the very same that had killed Issei and Asia, the very reason they were sitting in this courtroom right now. The woman in the straitjacket and tied to the cart was responsible for a good amount of things, and she knew that everyone else in the defendants' seats knew it too, as did both her attorneys.

 _Raynare._

"Here be the witness, Your Honor," Willis said in English, as if he expected the judges to also be bilingual.

The interpreter in the corner of the courtroom, who had stood unneeded for the longest while now, stood up to translate.

Judge Kazunari nodded. "Thank you. Tell Mr. Japhon that he can sit."

The interpreter duly translated that for Willis.

The tax attorney simply shrugged. "Okay." As he sat down next to Rias, he looked at her with a somewhat concerned expression, an eyebrow arched and hazel eyes filled with what looked like urgent worry.

"Did you press charges against Raynare?" he asked with fear in his voice.

"No," said Rias. "Why would you ask?"

"Because it's essential for the plot."

 _This_ again. This stupid comparison of the entire world to a story. It was not a story, could never be a story. It was simply too _big_ for that! The Great War, with its hundreds of thousands of casualties, and the creation of the world by the God of the Bible, all that seemed too _real_ for somebody with a cosmic pen and storybook to create. There were too many details, too many facets that could not possibly be created by the mind of an author.

Willis chuckled. "That's the thing, though, with your face. You're denying it. But seriously, who knows if the entire world we're currently inhabiting is a story? Who knows? If mythological figures can be real, then why not the fact that the entire world is a simulation? Like the Matrix?"

Rias smiled a smile of apprehension. "Mr. Japhon, this is not really the time to ask nonsensical questions about the world's workings. We have a trial to get underway."

Up on the bench, Judge Yamamoto smashed his gavel to call for silence, before pointing the little hammer at Raynare.

"You!" the judge squawked, "Who are you, what are you, and what was your intent to harm the defendants of this trial?!"

In response, Raynare's head lolled off to one side.

"I will ask again," the judge said rapidly, "who are you, what are you, and what was your intent to harm these devils?!"

Silence.

It was clearly obvious to all that something was wrong with the fallen angel. Her eyes, normally sharp and alert, were vacant, as if the soul that fueled them was gone. In that moment Rias almost felt sorry for her adversary. _Almost_.

As Willis Japhon began to rise for reasons Rias did not understand, Raynare stirred and righted her head, craning it to look at the judges.

"... _China_?"

Then the fallen angel thudded back onto her box-cart. Thing was, the box-cart did far more than _thud_. The cart actually shuddered before upending itself backwards, slamming on the courtroom floor with a loud thump. Raynare's head slapped against the cart's handle, producing a muted sound that reminded Rias of the sound that a ball makes when it hits glass. And then that was it.

Silence in the courtroom, as everyone in it tried to comprehend just exactly what had happened.

"Strike that from the record," Judge Yamamoto grunted.

Willis raised a hand, and Judge Yamamoto slapped his gavel and shouted _No_! at the tax attorney before he could do anything else.

"I was only going to upright Raynare," the man muttered as he lowered his hand in shame.

"This is outrageous, this is stupid!" Judge Otonashi roared. "The witness isn't even fit to stand trial! What are you people doing? Ask the idiot who can't speak Japanese, he's the one who was assigned charge of the administration of drugs. If the witness is acting like she's been given several shots of pure heroin, then it's the idiot's fault!"

James rose. "Your Honors, we don't need the witness to continue with this conference. If she had been conscious, well, that would've made things easier, but we can still proceed without her. In any case, the matter is done- we have a fallen angel in our custody. Needless to say, we had to inform the court."

" _Your custody,_ eh?" Heather Huynh growled, shaking a finger at James. "Who said that you could keep custody of the prisoner? If anything, she should be transferred to the Japanese prison system immediately!"

Rias rose as well, for she was itching to verbally spar with someone today.

"Your Honor," Rias said in what she supposed was a respectful tone, "Raynare is a fallen angel. Yes, I suppose that you could keep her in solitary like you did with me, but there are two main reasons why you shouldn't. First, she is a highly skilled fighter, with instincts honed after three millennia of war and combat. It was only through her arrogance and James Bradley's timely arrival that we were able to overcome her. And besides, it would take months to cast the proper wardings to repel any assaults that would be made either to dispatch Raynare or to recover her. The mansion where I live has that wardings. Indeed, the only reason why she breached them in the first place was because they were accidentally deactivated from _inside_ the mansion."

"So you are saying that your mansion is better equipped to handle a full-fledged assault than our prison systems, which were _specifically built for keeping prisoners in their cells_?" Judge Yamamoto said, skepticism evident in his tone.

"I know it sounds skeptical, Your Honor, but until your government requisitions the services of magicians who can cast such powerful spells- and it seems like the Tokyo administration seems like it is very anti-magic- Raynare is safer with us."

Silence.

"Your Honor," James Bradley said, a single finger upraised, "I'd like to file a motion for protective custody over Raynare. I know that my client doesn't have the proper credentials,

but this trial is already screwed up as it already is."

Judge Otonashi snorted. "And you think that is proper grounds to file for protective custody when, in your own words- my client doesn't have the proper credentials? Let me ask you a question, Mr. Bradley. Are you a fool?"

"Judge Otonashi! That is hardly proper!" It was Kazunari's turn now to reprimand his comrade. He then sighed as he turned back to the court. "Nevertheless, Judge Otonashi is right- you aren't the official prison system."

"Your Honors, if I may?" Xenovia piped up, her dark yellow eyes scanning the court intelligently as she stood up to speak.

"Absolutely not!" Otonashi thundered, only to get to overruled by Kazunari and Yamamoto.

"Speak, Miss Quarta," Yamamoto grunted, now seeming even more like a gaunt old man- a gaunt old man in a court full of children, it seemed, squalling and demanding his attention. It seemed like that to Rias, that much she was certain of.

"In the 1500s, the Spanish imprisoned and killed more than 2,000 people in an officially sanctioned programme that we all know as the Inquisition. Though it was technically legal, in normal times, it wouldn't have been. Now, why was the Inquisition carried out? To persecute Muslims, Jews, and those who weren't Catholic. It was illegal and unethical, and so is our proposed, ah, protective custody over Raynare. As Judge Otonashi pointed out, we are not a prison system, and we have our own prejudices against Raynare. But that doesn't mean that we can do this. Miss Shidou and I are both elite exorcists of our respective churches, and I must add that Rias and her peerage are very good fighters. So is Mr. Bradley. All together, I believe we can keep Raynare in check."

The judges conferred among themselves, with Otonashi's angry face being the most prominent feature of that. Rias mouthed a silent thank-you to the exorcist as she sat down, and was rewarded with a stony gaze.

"Don't thank me for something I did to save the Church's face, devil. Because one day, in the name of God, I will bring judgement upon you with my own hands, and neither the Japanese government or James Bradley can stop me from doing so."

Rias grunted. If Xenovia wanted to be that way, then she could be that way.

"We have reached a consensus," Judge Yamamoto grunted, slapping his gavel loudly on the bench. "The motion that Mr. Bradley has filed will be granted, after it is actually filed. In the meanwhile, you are hereby granted, by order of the High Court of Tokyo, to take this fallen angel with you into protective custody."

Silence.

"This court is hereby adjourned, and -barring any other special conferences- will be reconvened at a later date- to be determined- to decide the course of this trial. And no, fast-tracking will not be allowed."

Heather grunted in immense disgust.

The court sprang to life- or death, one could say, as everyone began to disperse for the day. The judges sorted through their dockets, the lawyers packed their cases, the court reporter finished clacking on her stenotype, the interpreter left, and to top this lively scene of getting ready to go home, Rias and her peerage began standing up and stretching their legs, which had been sorely neglected during the court session. Willis Japhon stood up and scampered to fetch the collapsed Raynare, adding even more weight to the scene.

James Bradley smiled. "You did good, Xenovia," the lawyer muttered in English, clapping her on the back. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Xenovia glared at Rias. "Tell it to the devil." she grunted in response.

Rias was not surprised by the exorcist's conduct. After all, their alliance was a temporary one forged by battle, and as as soon as that battle was over, that alliance would end. Such was the nature of temporary alliances, and normally, that would have been all fine and good. But there was a teensy little problem- they were all living in one place now, and it would take all of Rias' skill and James' profane bluntness to deal with the aggression that was sure to come.

James Bradley grunted. "Oh, come on," the lawyer said, rolling his eyes, "are you seriously going to let inter-Factional differences separate you? Y'all are in one boat now, even if it does happen to be a sinking one."

"Seriously?" Xenovia said, looking at James with disgust, "seriously?"

"It is, at the moment," James said, not even looking at Xenovia as he picked up his briefcase, "it really fucking is. Do y'all really think that the judges will trust anything that comes out of our mouths now? They'll grant that motion, sure, but we've basically just alienated them from our side. It's like the Game of Thrones- push and pull. Only we've pulled the judges in the wrong direction."

Suitcase ready and blue two-piece suit prim and proper, James Bradley began to walk out of the courtroom, but at the last moment, something seemed to have stopped him. He just froze where he was standing, and slowly wrenched himself around to fix Rias in his dark-eyed, haughty glare.

"Oh, and Rias?"

Rias looked at James Bradley, truly looked him over. Here was a man reeking of arrogance and selfishness, not really caring of what he did, so long as he got paid. But wasn't that most lawyers?

"What?" she replied impatiently, finding herself rather angry at James Bradley now, "what is it?"

"Be a dear next time, and try not to alienate everyone, will you? I find that you're getting quite ahead of yourself here. This isn't the Underworld, this is a courtroom. And for good measure, tell your servants that, too. Good to kick some sense into those stubborn little brains of yours."

Then he was gone, leaving Rias to her thoughts, which were increasingly turning to rage. Rage at her wounded pride, rage at Xenovia, but mostly rage at James Bradley. James Bradley, who thought that his law degree was a writ proclaiming him to treat high-class devils like her as he saw fit. She was a noblewoman, descendant of the Houses of Gremory and Bael, not a dog to be kicked around in James Bradley and the government of Japan's Great Game!

But despite the truth of it all, she really could do nothing about it.

Instead, she resolved herself to playing a greater role in the upcoming events.

 _After all,_ Rias thought, _I_ am _a noblewoman. Noblewoman are supposed to be accustomed to playing these games._

And oh, how these mortals, puffed up with their assurances in their laws and courts, would tremble at the might of Rias Gremory!

* * *

 **Authors' Note:** _And so, the latest installment to the tale of this trial. Read Review, if you wish; it'll do me wonders._


	13. Opening 1-St Jimmy

_Thought I'd do a little opening for A Most Sensational Trial._

 **OPENING**

 **Song: St. Jimmy**

 **Singer: Billie Joe Armstrong**

[ **Instrumental** ]

In a landscape with nothing but blackness, the back of someone's head is shown to the viewer, black and oily.

[ **St. Jimmy's coming down across the alleyway** ]

The head turns to the viewer, showing itself to be the face of James Bradley, drawn in an maniacal grin.

[ **Up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade]**

James' hand is shown gripping an Austro-Hungarian officer's saber, which he raises above his head.

[ **Light of a silhouette]**

A Smith Wesson revolver's side profile is shown, before it cocks as if it's going to fire.

[ **He's insubordinate]**

Papers and books go flying.

[ **Coming at you on the count of one, two, one, two, three, four]**

The screen pans out to see James Bradley with saber and gun in hand before he lunges at the screen with the saber descending in a wide slashing arc; the maniacal grin etched on his face the entire time.

[ **Instrumental** ]

The above scene abruptly blacks out, with the title 'High School DxD: A Most Sensational Trial' appearing, before getting slashed and shot.

 **[My name is Jimmy and you'd better not wear it out]**

James Bradley is shown, looking at the viewer with a bored expression on his face, leaning on a wall with his arms crossed. One can see the saber tucked safely in its sheath and the Smith Wesson revolver put neatly into his pants pockets.

[ **Suicide commando that your mama talked about]**

Willis Japhon is shown, an earnest grin on his face. His eyes are closed as he smiles, and he has a thick plastic file folder crammed with papers tucked underneath his shoulder.

 **[King of the forty thieves and I'm here to represent]**

Rias Gremory faces the viewer with a clear frown on her face and her blue eyes wide-open in indignation, arms on her hips. At [ **represent** ] she closes her eyes and turns her head away in an indignant manner.

[ **The needle in the vein of the establishment]**

Raynare is shown in a secretary's outfit, her mouth cocked in a flirting smile; one of her hands has been balled under her chin as if in thought, and her other crossed across her chest. She is standing in front of the rest of the ORC, who are all seated on couches and have various expressions of disgust/fear across their faces ( Koneko stands out by sipping some tea ). Xenovia and Irina can be seen at opposing ends of the room, arms and legs crossed as they too, wear expressions of distaste. It is not hard to tell what- or _who_ \- they are all giving the stink-eye to.

[ **I'm the patron saint of the denial]**

The ORC, Raynare, Xenovia, Irina, and their lawyers can be seen in court, with James' fist raised as he shouts at the judges presiding over the courtroom, whose faces are not shown.

[ **With an angel face and a taste for suicidal]**

The screen circles around the plaintiff's table, consisting of Gerald Graham, who is in the process of angrily rebutting James' statement; Heather Huynh, who is working on a document and then turns her blood-reddened face in the ORC's direction, before zooming in on Joshua Bradley, who has clear fear etched across his face.

[ **Instrumental** ]

The Japanese prime minister, Yoshihiko Noda, looks at the screen with steepled fingers, before it cuts to Itami Takashi, commander of the Anti-Supernatural Reaction Force, a pistol outstretched in hand as he knocks out Commander Watanabe.

[ **Cigarettes and Ramen and a little bag of dope]**

James, Willis, and the ORC walk down a sidewalk, highlighted by the orange sunset.

[ **I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allen Poe]**

James holds his wife Claire in his arms; the screen zooms in on her face as she stares up at him with her kind blue eyes.

 **[Raised in the city in the halo of lights]**

Tokyo's skyline is shown, before zooming on James' Buick careening through the streets.

[ **Product of war and fear that we've been victimized]**

Jeffrey Bradley, 44th President of the United States, is shown with his finger above the nuclear button. At [ **victimized]** he looks away.

[ **I'm the patron saint of the denial** ]

James stands, his arms spread outwards and his legs situated squarely apart. His head is cocked back in a maniacal grin.

[ **With an angel face and a taste for suicidal** ]

He draws his saber and pistol and starts running…

[ **Instrumental]**

The ORC and James engage in battle with a horde of fallen angels. Kokabiel can be seen hovering over the entire scene. In quick succession, Koneko can be seen crushing a fallen angel's face; Kiba zooms past her and slices through his opponent, and Akeno electrocutes an entire group of Fallen that were about to attack her.

[ **Are you talking to me?]**

James raises his blood-stained saber and shouts. One can see Xenovia and Irina engaged in battle, slicing and parrying the light-spears of their enemies.

[ **I'll give you something to cry about]**

Rias then gives a cry, and with the Power of Destruction in her hands, starts running towards Kokabiel, who launches towards her with his spear. The screen melts into montages of the ORC training, talking, and fighting. Issei's perverted antics can be seen alongside James' rants and his wife's efforts to calm him down. Most prominent is the maniacal grin of Diadora Astaroth and the purple skies of the Dimensional Gap.

[ **St. Jimmy!]**

James pumps his fist into the air, with the ORC and Claire looking on in consternation. More montages of the ORC doing everyday things can be seen, ending with James and company gazing upwards into a starry night. Issei and Asia can be seen holding hands.

[END]


	14. The Gloves Are Off

**1 week later  
**

 **Ritz-Carlton Presidential Suite**

James Bradley was an atheist. Or at least, he had been, until all this shit had blown up in his face.

He'd been raised in a Roman Catholic family- both his father and mother were devout. Not surprisingly, none of that devoutness had stuck with the progeny of their children. James suspected it had to do something with the apathy of his generation, not the way they were raised. Mother had taken Joshua and him to church every Sunday, even when Father died of a stroke in '88, a year after Joshua was born. And yet it had never stuck. They'd stood in front of Jesus Almighty, standing there, praying and chanting and memorizing Scripture and trying to suck in the feel of that holy place, in the hopes that it would make them as holy as Jesus was, he who died on the Cross for all of humanity's sins. But in the end it had never mattered. When he turned 18 in 1996, he had moved out to New York, with its high rises, beckoning sights, and women, and never once had he looked back. At least Joshua _tried_ to be religious, from what he had heard, and Jeffrey had turned Protestant sometime back, if what the media said was true.

Yet no matter how far he ran, no matter how many women he fucked, and no matter how many times he cursed God's name and Jesus and all the angels and saints, it never went away. Religion would be constantly thrown in his face; he had friends who were religious, and his mother would always rail at him for abandoning her creed. But most importantly, Claire was Eastern Orthodox, and devout, too- _none of that birth control stuff, it is a sin to be so selfish about creating life!_

No wonder that they didn't have a lot of sex.

And now it had become the ultimate clusterfuck. All the angels he had cursed? _Real._ The Hell that all the Bible-thumpers were getting so angsty about _?_ _Real._ God? _Real._ Jesus? _Real._ Everything else, like Zeus, Vishnu, and Odin? _Real_. At least, according to the book of lore that he had found lying around the mansion of Rias Gremory.

He supposed that religious people had had the final last laugh. Atheists _had_ been proven wrong all along. There was a Big Governor in the sky, and not just that, all the other gods were real, too. It was all one big _fuck-you_ in the faces of atheism! There was a God, and there were gods, and they all hungered for a piece of the human pie.

But out of all this religious shit, he had never expected to meet the Devil himself.

Or, at least, the _current_ one, if that was even a thing.

According to Rias, the Devil that everyone talked about was Lucifer; Lucifer the Morning Star, bringer of Dawn, and God's most beloved angel, at least until he and a third of the Angelic Host fell from Heaven. That one-third became the Fallen, and Lucifer had gone on to make the devils. But then he'd been killed by his lieutenants, who took his title for themselves and started the Great War, all because they were a bunch of mad, power-hungry bastards. They'd all died in the Great War, and their descendants then had fought the more pragmatic ones in an all-out civil war for leadership of Hell, just because they wanted to conquer the world, to finish what their fathers had started.

The pragmatic ones had won, and they had set up this marvelous thing called a "Grand Assembly of the Underworld," a Parliament made out of all the noble families of the Underworld, and then this Parliament then _elected_ new leaders for the Underworld, if that was even a thing. Didn't sound much like a democracy, since the people had no say in what the Assembly did.

But according to the devil girl, it worked. It worked, and the Underworld had had peace and safety until this very day.

And the young man with striking red hair sitting in front of him was supposed to be the current Devil.

Sirzechs Lucifer, previously Sirzechs Gremory, was part of that "new generation" of leadership. He, along with three individuals called Ajuka Beelzebub, Serafall Leviathan, and Falbium Asmodeus, were the new Lords of Hell, if that was even a thing- the four had only been in power since the conclusion of the Devil Civil War five hundred years ago. _Only,_ to quote Rias Gremory. He was also Rias' older brother, and was supposedly overtly affectionate towards his sister. No, not _incest_ \- the devil had a wife. It was just that Sirzechs was apparently overprotective of his sister.

But if Rias hadn't told James that Sirzechs was not actually Lucifer Morningstar and just a devil, then James would've thought that the so-called Sirzechs was _actually_ Lucifer Morningstar, the Beloved Son of God, Fallen Archangel Extraordinaire, Lord of Hell, Bringer of Sin, _et cetera, et cetera_.

Everything about the man bespoke a kind of cool haughtiness; every look of his eye, every line of his face was shaped with a suave manner, a smug feel. The Lord of Hell's entire posture was relaxed- not so much as to slack back and appear slothful, but it was a confident, relaxed pose that showed that the Devil was completely at ease with his surroundings, and demonstrated that he was completely at ease being in the world of humanity.

On the right of the Lord of Hell was the devil's wife- a beautiful sort of woman in a French maid outfit, for some reason. She noticed James' gaze, and ignored it, staring impassively at the wall ahead.

On the left of Sirzechs Lucifer was a girl; a young girl with pink eyes rather like Raynare or Akeno's, and matching black hair. But this girl was nothing like the former two. She seemed too happy for her own good, rather like Asia Argento. Unlike her fellow flanker, she wore a no-nonsense dark teal business suit and a pink handkerchief. But the official attire that she wore could not disguise her face. _It wasn't too happy_ , James thought, _it was a shit-eating grin_.

"Ooooh," said the girl, "humans. So fascinating!"

She said it like James was some kind of lab specimen that she had never seen before.

"I wonder if he's squishy!"

"Serafall," Sirzechs muttered, "no squishing the human!"

The speaking of the name sent a nervous jolt running through James. This shit-eating, happy-go-lucky girl was a Lord of Hell?

"Excuse me, Lord Lucifer, but that's Lady Leviathan, am I right?"

"You're right!" said the newly-revealed Serafall Leviathan, jumping up in the air. "I'm Serafall Leviathan!"

"So it is," James muttered, looking at his briefcase, "so it is."

The door behind him opened, and Willis walked into the room. "Sorry 'bout that," the tax attorney said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, "I got sidetracked. You know, preparing the right documents for everything and all."

"I see," Sirzechs muttered thoughtfully. A chair appeared out of thin air, placing itself neatly next to James' own seat. "Please, Mr. Japhon, have a seat."

"Yah," Willis responded, plopping his ass onto the chair, "of course. Now, were you guys discussing anything important?"

"No, we were not," the Lord of Hell replied curtly, cutting over James' attempt to tell Willis to shut up. "In fact, we were just waiting for your arrival."

"Oh, yeah, of course. So... we are discussing the terms of employment here. And, uh, your sister owes us a total of twenty-five thousand three hundred thirty four United States dollars, but due to the fact that all Gremory assets on the mortal plane have been frozen, well, we haven't been paid in a while. But it's all good. We get to freeload at Rias' house!"

There was no visible change on the Lord of Hell's face at the presentation of the costs; only what seemed to be amusement.

"And, uh, according to the _Infernal Codex_ here, the legal age of adulthood in the Underworld is, uh, I think, eighteen. Your sister is nineteen. Technically, she can make decisions by herself. But, I can see why. Any thoughts, uh..."

Willis glanced at the large wooden nameplate on the desk, reading _Sirzechs Lucifer._

"... Lord Lucifer?"

"No," Sirzechs said, waving a hand. "Is that all, Mr. Japhon?"

"Well, for me at least. James has some private stuff to say to you. Private stuff, so if you don't mind, ladies..."

"Serafall is a Great Satan, a Lord of Underworld like myself. She will remain to bear witness to what Mr. Bradley has to say."

"Okay." Willis said, slightly miffed.

"Grayfia, could you escort Mr. Japhon outside, please?"

"Of course."

Willis stood up, and was accompanied by the maid, accompanying Willis' lanky stride at a brisk pace. The door closed behind the two of them, and James could hear it being locked. From the _outside_.

If there was something that James hated, it was doors locked from the outside.

Sirzechs Lucifer cleared his throat. "Now that all unnecessary personnel have been removed from the room, let us delve into necessary matters."

"My sister is being held for murder, as is her entire peerage and two exorcists from their respective Churches. I must ask you, Mr. Bradley, is that true?"

"The evidence of the attack can't be disputed; that's two hundred and fifty-seven corpses in the morgue, with the addition of six badly burned Type 90s. But-"

He stopped speaking, suddenly, realizing what he had done.

 _Government gag order, ever heard of it_? whispered the logical, most _lawyerly_ part of his mind.

"- erhm, I'm sorry, but as per the government of Japan's orders, I am not allowed to disclose anything else about this trial. It's top-secret, and Rias and all her peerage are under the same order. You may be the Lord of the Underworld, but if you aren't part of this case, then you can't know _anything_. That was a slip-up on my part. Anyway, if you-"

The world blurred around him as he was thrown out of the chair and subsequently smashed face-first into the wall beyond. Blood seeped from his brow and blocked his line of vision, but amidst the blossoming redness of his lifeblood, he was able to make out the livid face of Sirzechs Lucifer, red eyes glowing in apoplectic rage. Literally _glowing._ He could feel the heat, even from where he lay in a crumpled heap halfway across the room.

"Sirzechs!" Serafall exclaimed, a hand to her mouth in horror, "you can't do that! It's not nice!"

" _Nice_?!" Sirzechs roared, and James was hurled across the room again. This time he managed to use his arms as a shield, taking the most of the impact. Still they hurt, and once again he was lying in a heap on the floor, in shock and awe at the power of the Lord of the Underworld.

" _Nice_?!" roared the Lord of the Underworld, but this time it seemed directed at his fellow leader, the one they called Serafall Leviathan. "I am sorry, Serafall, but my sister's life is at stake here! What if Sona had remained with Rias, too? What if they had both fought together, and been captured together and put on trial together by the government of Japan, knowing full well that the Japanese government would disregard our might, our absolute _power_ , just so that they could fulfill what they call 'due process of law?' The government of Japan is a foolish government, and should Rias be harmed by the so-called guilty verdict that they lay down upon her, they will know the true wrath of a Great Satan."

"Sirzechs!" Serafall exclaimed. "Of course I would defend my sister! But if the government of Japan wanted to try Sona, then I would let them! Of course, I'd break her out if they found her guilty, but still! This is their land, we've got to respect their laws! Or at least, that's what the Japanese Constitution says, anyway."

Suddenly James found himself back in the chair again. The strangest thing was, the blood was gone. All of it. It was as if he'd never been hurled against the wall and suffered a head injury. He touched his brow out of instinct, and as he suspected, there was no cut.

Yet the heat, the sweltering, unforgiving fire of Hell was still there; he could feel it. He found himself staring into the stormy eyes of Sirzechs Lucifer, radiating immense quantities of heat every second. Serafall Leviathan stood next to him, her violet eyes glimmering with concern.

"Did Rias inform you of the long history of the Underworld?"

"She did, yeah. What does your Civil War have to with anything this side of reality?"

Sirzechs chuckled. "Unfortunately, it has _everything_ to do with the Civil War."

"Those days were hellish days, pardon the expression. The Satans were dead, their power broken. Their descendants squabbled and fought for the power that the name of their forefathers had carried, which had been pried directly from the fallen Son of God's lifeless hands. We, the nobles of the Underworld, decided something had to be done."

"I was a young devil at that time, barely eighteen, and I was one of those who had the bravery to stand up and tell the petty descendants of the Satans that their power was gone, that the names of those who had sired them did not matter anymore. They didn't like that, and there was war."

The devil laughed, and put his head in his hands, apparently reliving his own glory days. James shut up, and let him continue.

"They were foolish, every single one of those Old Satans. We'd already lost billions in the Great War. We made Heaven and the Fallen bleed for every inch of ground, every inch of political leverage, and they'd made us bleed, too. Less in number, they were, and yet they killed so many. And in this time the other gods laughed at our miseries and continued to rule their domains, safe in the knowledge that the Three Factions would bleed themselves to death over their petty squabbles."

"We fought, and many good devils died in those frantic months as we struggled to achieve power. The powerful fought the powerful, and elsewhere the armies fought each other, turning on each other with the ragged desperation of devils who have nothing else to fight for. Spurred on by the Old Satans and those who would seek to preserve our race and prosper. Every city taken, every town recaptured, every block destroyed, every room cleared was paid in blood. It is no wonder that the Old Satans are so despised by the rest of the Underworld."

"You see that, mortal? I have slain countless devils, killed them where they stood. I have faced down devils that could destroy this building with a snap of their fingers, and _won_. The government of Japan does not frighten me in the least bit."

"I never disputed your war record, Lord Lucifer. All I said was that while you're upstairs, you've got to respect our rules."

"And why should I?" Sirzechs said, deadly intent apparent in his tone. "Why should I respect the word of a government that has harmed my sister?"

"They never harmed Rias," James grunted in response. "'Leastways, that's what she said."

"You know," Sirzechs said, steepling his fingers underneath his chin, "I always had a plan to reveal our existence one day."

"You did?"

"Why _not_? Eventually your kind would reach a civilized state as the rest of us have, and at point there would be little point to maintain the masquerade. Look at your society and how it has reacted to our presence. A few protests here, a few human supremacists there, but no worldwide purges against our kind. In fact, aside from the Tokyo administration, your human leaders have shown much tolerance; I daresay they are preaching _acceptance_. Your militaries and police forces keep order, and the individuals who are not so prejudiced towards our existence are exerting a calming influence on their peers. It is not the perfect situation, but _far_ better than I expected."

"What I did not expect was _this_. The Japanese government has committed a grave crime-"

" _Grave crime_? Rias disobeyed Japanese government orders! They were going to shut down Kuoh Academy and place Rias, along with this girl called Sona Sitri-"

"Sona?!" Serafall Leviathan asked, eyebrows perking up ridiculously quick, "They were going to put their hands on Sona?!"

"What do you think, Lady Leviathan? She's a devil, too! They would obviously want her for questioning, you know, the typical stuff- perpetrating treason against the state, corrupting morals, values, _et cetera, et cetera_. But it wouldn't have been that bad. If anything, they would be under pressure from Uncle Sam to not hurt anyone."

"But no! Rias resisted! She evacuated the entire damned place, told Sona to bugger off, and then made a stand against the government of Japan! If there's one thing the Japanese don't like, it's when people violate their so-called "territorial sovereignty." They were going to fight to the death in the World War, did you know that? It took two nuclear bombs to get them to shut their traps and to stop yammering about their bushido and honor and all that suicidal banzai notions. And even today they're still going at it."

Serafall chuckled. "If it'll take only two nuclear bombs to get Japan to be quiet, then I suppose it'll be much easier for us!"

"What?"

"Come on, Mr. Bradley! We're Satan-class devils! How strong do you think we are, compared to 15 kilotons of TNT?"

"Very."

"See? But anyway, Sirzechs, if Rias really did disobey Japanese government orders, well, think about it- would you like it if some kid decides to start disobeying our laws?"

"Serafall," Sirzechs groaned, apparently sick of his fellow Satan's nonsensical prattling, "how would you feel if that kid tries to choke Sona to death?"

"Nonsense! Sona's strong! She'll drown that kid before they even get close to her!"

James grunted again, as he tried to attract the attention of the two quarreling Satans.

"I believe we were here to finalize the contract over my employment as Rias Gremory's co-counsel?"

"Rias reserves the full right to an attorney," Sirzechs grunted, eyes glowing red again, "both as a minor in Japan and an adult in the Underworld. But she is also a noblewoman of the Underworld; her dignity and safety is the first and foremost concern. Therefore it is only logical that her lawyer be the same."

"Well, Rias reserves a full right to an attorney, and what goes on between her and me is protected courtesy of the attorney-client privilege! You may be the Lord of the Underworld, but if you aren't part of this case, then YOU AREN'T BLOODY PRIVY TO ANYTHING THAT GOES ON IN THIS DAMNED TRIAL!"

There. He had done it. He had gotten it off his chest, and said something that that he should've said fifteen minutes ago.

Silence.

James Bradley crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"If you are that stubborn about divulging the contents of the trial, then _fine_. You _are_ a lawyer, anyway. Did you not swear on an oath to protect your client's integrity, didn't you?"

"Damn right."

"Very well. In that case, we have one last thing to discuss. It is very important, Mr. Bradley, and I want to make sure that you understand the full implications of this before you proceed."

"Go ahead and shoot, Lord Lucifer."

"When a human makes a contract of any kind with the Underworld, there needs to be some form of payment. When devils carry out their contracts, a form of payment is often required. Once we took souls like the Biblical portrayal of a deal with the devil; now, the payment is less severe- money, works of art, and jewelry are some of the most common currencies that we accept."

"This contract involves Rias paying me for _my_ services!" James said, his voice in the indeterminable range between raised voice and a full-fledged shout. "You can't make me pay for something that she's paying _me_ for!"

"Ah," said Sirzechs, wagging a finger, "but I must have something to guarantee your absolute attention and focus to this case."

"You have my word," James grunted, because that was the only thing that he could give to Sirzechs at that point. He had nothing else to offer the devil lord at that point.

"Aye, there is the matter of your word. But unfortunately, Mr. Bradley, that is not enough. You see, I _must_ have something from you; something tangible, something _real_. It is an unfortunate consequence of the days of the Old Satans. It is the only way a deal can be secured; otherwise, any contract that you may have thought you dreamed up my sister is null and void. What is the term that you humans use? _There'll be hell to pay_? Well, there will be hell to pay- on your part."

Damned bastard didn't understand how law on this side of reality worked.

He was about to stand up, to protest his rights when he felt something wrap around his arms and legs, weighing him down and forcing him to sit down. He heard the chair groan under his weight, which shocked him- it couldn't be him, since he didn't weigh that much to force chairs to groan. It had to be whatever was dragging him down, preventing him from moving.

It seemed that Sirzechs Lucifer was doing something to his nerves, and his fears were confirmed a second later. Numbness spread through his limbs, and paralyzed his vocal chords. At this point the only thing he could do was sweat and look around frantically. He locked eyes with Serafall Leviathan, trying to get the devil girl to do something, to at least say something to get her fellow Lord to stop working whatever shit he was on James' limbs.

Serafall caught his gaze. For a second those large violet eyes glanced at him in sheer pity, then they looked away, condemning James to whatever foul punishment that Sirzechs Lucifer had dreamt up for contracting Rias' services.

He looked back at Sirzechs Lucifer, who was now reaching for him. The devil lord's hand was outstretched, as if he was going to grab James' head and wrench it off his shoulders. Then the fingers began to close together, as if he was going to drive it through James' skull.

Then they opened up again, but only by a little bit, and James understood.

Then he began to scream.

* * *

In the words of Willis Japhon, the Ritz-Carlton Hotel was a "very nice place." It had been the place where James and Willis had stayed briefly before the case had started, apparently. According to the Internet, the establishment warranted a five-star, which was the best among human establishments. Of course, it was nothing compared to the Gremory family palace, but for humans, this was impressive.

Rias Gremory sat with her peerage one one side of the waiting room. On the other sat the two exorcists from the Church, Willis Japhon, and Raynare.

Raynare. Her mere continued was an insult to the Gremory peerage. The fallen angel had already caused so much pain to Issei and Asia. And then there was the fact that she had mounted an assault and had managed to injure practically her entire peerage, the exorcists, and James Bradley. Even now, Rias didn't understand Willis Japhon's logic for keeping the angel around, but whatever reasoning behind his choice seemed to be working. The Fallen had proved to be downright amicable towards Rias and her peerage, and was actually helpful in some others, such as helping to cook, clean, and manage things around the mansion.

But it still didn't change the fact that she was guilty of her past crimes.

The door opened, and James Bradley stumbled out. He didn't walk out; he didn't even strut, which was his usual norm. He stumbled, like he was in the throes of excess drunkenness.

"What happened?" Rias said, rising from her seat. "What did Sirzechs do to you?"

It was a legitimate question, for a large cloth eyepatch had been slapped across the lawyer's right eye, black as night. As she looked at the eyepatch itself, she recognized the age-old aura of a contract. The only oddity with that aura was that said aura seemed to emanate from the eyepatch that James was wearing.

"Nothing much," the lawyer grunted. "Look, just... just leave it alone. I've already got enough crap to deal with. If you want, you can talk to your brother about it; I'm sure he would be willing to tell his beloved little sister everything about what just went on in there."

He began to walk out of the room, foosteps rapidly receding as he walked down the stairs at the end of the room, and out of plain sight.

She _had_ talked to her brother before James Bradley had went inside the suite and had whatever had happened to him occur. He had inquired about her health, her disposition, and most of all, he had asked about what the Japanese had done to her in their prisons. He had expressed distaste on why she was keeping a fallen angel around, especially the same fallen angel that had attacked her and her peerage, and had become slightly miffed when he had learned it was done on the orders of Willis Japhon and James Bradley. Sirzechs had planned to make a great fuss about it, but Rias had dropped the fact that the Japanese government had ordered it, too- protective custody and all that.

"Still," her brother had said, "I wouldn't trust a fallen angel around you."

"Me neither," Rias had agreed, "but you know how humans are- once they got a bit of evidence to their case, they won't let it go, even death tries to do it part."

"Mmm. Promise me, though, that you'll be safe. Politics teaches you patience, you know? Five hundred years ago, I would have destroyed the entire Japanese Archipelago. Now, five-hundred years later... I don't know. The business of politics softens you, but in some ways it sharpens you even more."

"Please don't."

"Mm..."

Still, Sirzechs was right. Humans were extremely complicated beings- they dreamed too much, and had bigger appetites than their stomachs.

With a sigh, Rias Gremory began to follow James Bradley down the staircase, feeling a bit too much like a lamb being led to slaughter. A very aware, very self-conscious lamb.

But that was the pride of devils, Rias supposed- her kind relished a challenge, even if it was a potentially fatal one. It had been the reason why the Old Satans had led the Underworld against Heaven and the Grigori after their coup against Helel, and it had been the reason why the descendants of the Old Satans had attempted to continue the Great War, despite the overwhelming losses. It had been the reason why she had stayed behind to defend Kuoh Academy, despite the fact that there had been a very easy way out.

But being a coward was "for losers," as James Bradley liked to say. No. Rias Gremory had stayed behind, and made them bleed. And now, she would defeat the presumptuous Japanese government, and drive a deadly stake into the heart of their expectations. She would win at their own game, the game that they thought they could ensnare her in, and never mind Sirzechs!

 _I will play the Great Game, James Bradley, and I will succeed! No! I will do better than succeed, and WIN._

* * *

 **Well, this concludes the first proper 'arc' of _A Most Sensational Trial_ , in which the OCs and the terrible enemy known as the Japanese government are introduced. In the meanwhile, I will be making changes to how I format and write chapters, and possibly rewriting Chapters 1-4. Possibly. Until then, scrappy out! Please read & review!  
**


	15. Legal Filler (Quite Literally)

There were many things that James didn't like about this trial, and breakfast was one of them.

Breakfast was something that James looked forward to. He looked forward to digging into a steaming plate of bacon and eggs, filling his system with those delicious and hearty pork strips, and complement it with those equally sumptuous eggs, which, when fried right, could beat any other cuisine out there. Screw sashimi, screw cevapi, and most of all, screw sauerkraut- American cuisine, the food that fueled millions, was the best on the planet.

However, in order to get things right, breakfast also had to be happy. Of course, the food had to be cooked well, but the people attending the breakfast also had to be happy. Only then could a breakfast be perfect.

But first, in his defense, he wasn't really happy, either. He'd been woken up at six by a multitude of FedEx notifications on his phone, alerting him that he had mail. Fumbling his way through the darkness, he had managed to identify and take out the lone package in the mailbox, a thick legal-sized envelope. James didn't need to know what it was as he ripped the damned thing open. It was Gerald's written discovery: a set of interrogatories that complemented the set that he had given Joshua a few weeks ago, as well as a series of requests for every document known to the plaintiff or his lawyer, which, fortunately, were few, and, finally, request for admissions. The latter was a neat device to force the opposing side in a case to admit or deny certain facts set forth in writing, usually answerable within thirty or so days. If the facts were not denied, then they were forever deemed admitted.

Surprisingly, the package contained no motions, which was a relief. High-powered corporate lawyers like Gerald, no matter how nice and courteous they were, were known for burying their opponents in piles and piles of documents. So far, that hadn't happened yet, but it was bound to happen. The thought of being swamped in a storm of legal documents, however far away that day was, was a thought that certainly put a damper on James' mood, and contributed greatly to his own glumness. But nothing could prepare him for the shit that would greet him in the dining room.

It was as if the table was divided into two separate warring camps. On one side of the table, Rias Gremory and her peerage sat, flanked on both ends by Irina and Xenovia. On the other, and constituting her own faction, was Raynare, arms crossed defiantly across her breasts as she leered at Rias and her group. In the middle of this Cold War between supernatural species sat James and Willis on opposite sides. The tax lawyer was mumbling to himself about the loopholes and impossibilities found in the Internal Revenue Code.

James began eating his bacon and eggs. The sound of him eating his food was the only sound in the room, apart from Willis' tax mumblings.

Rias Gremory and her group eyed Raynare, and the fallen angel eyed back.

"So," James said, spearing a strip of bacon, "What's going on in your little supernatural lives?"

Silence.

"Hello? You people deaf, blind, and mute?"

Silence.

It was clear from the amount of animosity that was emanating from both ends of the table that this wasn't working.

He had been so fucking stupid! Putting a fallen angel and a group of devils ( and two Church exorcists, don't forget that ) was a stupid idea. It had all been his fault. He'd been the one to demand that they keep the bitch alive, and out of respect- and possible fear, he supposed- the devils had indeed not laid a hand on Raynare since.

How idiotic this was turning out to be!

"What is life even anymore?" Willis said glumly, digging into his breakfast of milk and cereal.

"Life is pretty fucked up," James muttered, getting up. He'd just scarfed down the last egg, its rich taste still in his mouth, making him feel all good and warm inside; a stark contrast to the hostile mood that was just so palpable in the dining room.

As he dropped the plate into the sink and ran water over it to wash off the grease, he looked outside. Today was a sunny day; the sky was clear blue and the sun shone high. Today, the weeaboo land of Japan looked almost picturesque. He was sorely tempted to throw in the towel and actually declare it picturesque, if not for the fact that he had a case to take care of- this big, annoying, and very sensitive case that could probably blow up in his face if he didn't handle it right.

He had left his briefcase in the living room, so he made a short detour there to grab it. Hefting the leather case with a quick swoop, he walked at a brisk pace back to the dining room, setting the briefcase on the table with a muffled thunk.

"Well, since you're not eating, I figured we might as well flesh out some important things that you might need to know about the-"

As if they were puppets whose strings had just been cut, Rias Gremory and her associates, along with Raynare, automatically began digging into their breakfasts, which were most certainly cold and not that delicious anymore. But they ate as if it was their last meal on the planet.

It took him a full minute of standing there, blinking and uncomprehending, before he realized what that hurrying, scampered gesture really meant.

"GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!" James roared, slamming his fist down on the table, making the centerpiece of flowers shiver ever so slightly. "One moment, you all look like you want to start a mass fucking melee, and then the second I put my suitcase on the table, you start tearing into your food like fucking ANIMALS! Jesus fucking Christ, don't you people understand that if you're going to survive this trial, then you're going to have to dig your nose in Criminal Law And Procedure For the Paralegal! God fucking damnit, when will you people listen?!"

Xenovia frowned as she looked at him, her nose turned ever so slightly upwards as she regarded him with her cold yellow eyes. "Please do not use the Lord's name in vain, James Bradley."

To complement the exorcist's clipped statement, Akeno giggled, holding a hand to her mouth as she laughed courteously- yet insultingly, all the same. "Oh, Mr. Bradley, do be more patient, and please do watch your language! And I thought lawyers were supposed to be cold and efficient, of which you are neither...after all, would you like it if someone denied you your breakfast?"

"I'd have to agree," said Raynare from over on her end of the table, digging furiously into her fried pork and rice. "Besides, I'm not only starving- I'm absolutely fucking famished. For someone who hawks on and on about 'equal privilege' and 'human justice,' you're acting exactly like the bastards you want to defeat."

"For once, the Fallen is right," Rias said, steepling her hands underneath her chin and adopting a deep, thoughtful look. "We are not angels, James. We devils and humans require sustenance, too...but then, you already knew that."

"I'm hungry," Koneko Toujou said like the coup de grȃce to an already-dying cause, all while hungrily wolfing down egg rolls with a tureen of milk.

All around the table, murmurs going along the line of the cat girl's statement could be heard. The sounds of vigorous chewing and swallowing echoed through the dining room, much to James' utter shock and dismay.

Goddamned supernaturals. Any more efforts on his part to assuage their aversion regarding the legal system would be furtive on his part.

So with a heavy sigh, James Bradley swept his briefcase off the table and marched briskly upstairs, determined to do the casework himself. Fuck the supernaturals, and fuck Willis. He could do this shit on his own, without anyone's help. He could answer Gerald's paperwork by himself, and match the older man move for move. James' own interrogatories were almost complete, and the fact that Gerald had sent him a massive load spurred James into action. He was determined to show his adversaries at Rainier Landon that he, too, could play the paper war. Take that, million-dollar salary!

But then, Gerald would realize, once again, that he was contending with a lawyer who had nothing else to do.

Fuck.

Such were the intractable dilemmas of his little life.

* * *

With James Bradley's departure, the ORC, the exorcists, Raynare, and finally, Willis, were left in uncomfortable silence.

It was hesitant and forced at first, but eventually transformed into a genuine flow of mirth as the people sitting in the dining room once more jubilantly rejoiced at denigrating, maligning, and bad-mouthing the only one who could legally get them out of this contrived mess, the one that they had themselves made.

But in truth, they didn't really care. As far as they were concerned, James Bradley could go and stick the revolver that he always carried around in his mouth and pull the trigger. Simply put, James Bradley's clients weren't in the mood for legalese right now, and for once, they were entirely well-justified in that assumption.

* * *

"Silence is an enemy...and violence is the energy."

At least, that was what Joshua had hung on the wall of his cubicle at Rainier Landon.

Heather Huynh walked right into his cubicle and snorted when she saw the Green Day quote on the wall, crossing her arms underneath her breasts and adopting the hard-nosed sneer that Joshua had grown accustomed to seeing on her face.

"Huh. Silence ain't the enemy. The enemy's anyone who's going to get you killed, no matter what side they're on... at least according to Catch-22. But fuck high school reading."

The youngest Bradley broke into a nervous laugh at his colleague's foul-mouthed suggestion. "Yeah, I guess that's true. We had to read Catcher In The Rye where I went to high school- they just don't know how to make the reading interesting."

"So much catching," Heather moaned, plopping down on a office chair and wincing as it groaned in protest, "But then again, like I just said. Fuck high school reading."

"Fuck high school reading," Joshua said somewhat nervously, and yet all the same he found himself enjoying the words. Maybe he had just stumbled upon the rationale for James' liberal swearing- it felt good.

No. It fucking felt good.

"Fuck yeah," the emboldened Rainier Landon associate said, louder this time.

"Yeah, fuck yeah," Heather quipped, picking up one of the stray files lying around the cubicle. "That's how you do things here. Don't fuck around, but don't be afraid of your own shadow. Work that corporate treadmill, and in a few years you'll be a senior associate, like me. Hell, you might even make partner."

"Partner." That elusive word implied great wealth, a share in the firm's profits, and if the partnership was non-equity, it still meant that one would be able to have a hand in the management of the firm.

The firm had indeed been founded by a Rainier and a Landon, but over time Rainier had sold his stock and retired, and Landon had simply sat back and watched until he had died of a heart attack in 2004. And even when Landon had still had an active hand guiding the firm, the seniormost partners were already warring amongst themselves for control. Eventually three emerged on top- Jasper Moreno, a former Mexican illegal; Houki Minami, a Japanese native, and of course, dear old Gerald. A partner had even coined a reign name for them- "Triumvirate", with the individual members themselves as "Triumvirs", in a deliberate homage to Caesar and his fellow partners of old. The three took much offense to being called "Triumvirs" right to their faces, but the practice continued behind their backs.

Joshua didn't care much for partner, but Heather did. The ambitious woman was always looking to make partner.

"You have your own office, don't you?" he said, trying to make some more conversation.

"You kidding? I'm not a partner. I have a cubicle like you- just bigger and roomier."

"Sure."

" _Sure_? Where's your drive, your ambition? Everyone I speak to here wants to make partner. Hell, _I_ want to make partner! Everyone wants to fucking make partner! And you, the one person in here who has the right connections, _doesn't_ want to be be partner. Sometimes, you confuse me, Joshua."

"You confuse me too."

"Of course I do."

He really didn't know what to say.

"Look, Heather, it's getting late, and I've got hours to clock and people to bill. So, this little visit; it's gotta have some purpose. Whatcha here for, Heather?"

In response, Heather simply left the cubicle. As Joshua craned his neck to see where she had went, she returned with a heavy black briefcase and unceremoniously dropped it on the cubicle desk.

"Did you think you were running from the case so easily?" Heather sneered, her glasses falling slightly as her face arranged itself into her familiar sneer. "That six-figure salary of yours is being feted out for a reason; your _undying efforts to work hard_. I hope you know that."

"So what now?" Joshua grunted back, utterly defeated. "What do you want me to do?"

Heather leaned in close. Uncomfortably close, as in _I-can-hear-you-breathing-on-me_ - _uncomfortably-close_.

"Let's do something about this goddamned case."

* * *

 **The next day**

Unlike other law corporations, each Rainier Landon corporate office had its own well-stocked law library, along with several small places to read up on ancient treatises and modern rulings. One could find the ancient Byzantine _Corpus Juris Civilis_ alongside _The Essentials of Real Estate Law_ , as well as the much-hallowed _American Jurisprudence_ series, tucked away in its shelves.

At precisely nine thirty in the morning, Heather Huynh and Joshua Bradley met amidst the shelves, as if for a clandestine romantic rendezvous. But the subject of their meeting was anything but romantic. After all, they _were_ meeting in a law library.

Joshua was in charge of breakfast, and he unpacked two packages of _bento_. For a few minutes, they ate hungrily, neither saying much. Eventually, the emptied-out bento boxes were pushed towards the edge of the table; there to stay until the end of this impromptu session of legal review.

"Splendid, eh? Eight hours of this, and I'm certain we'll be better off because of it," Heather said, a bit too enthusiastically.

"Splendid? I wouldn't call this _splendid_ ," was all Joshua said, fishing out some more law material. He looked back at his watch, and grimaced at the _wonderful_ day that Heather had planned for them. They would work nonstop for more than six hours, taking lunch, restroom, and coffee breaks only, and at seven P.M sharp, they would be outta there, because even lawyers needed their rest breaks.

From ten to twelve fifteen, they took out OJ's case and scrubbed it for every word, every judicial opinion, every rebuttal, and every counterargument. They weren't looking for its legal application to their own case, but rather to absorb the methods that each side used. They looked at the LAPD's arguments, and then they examined the Dream Team's. Nothing was left out.

Everything about cases- sensational cases, cases that first appeared towards one side's favor but then swung drastically towards the other, was dragged out. They worked and worked, until they were reading the transcript of the Dreyfus Affair; albeit amended by contemporary law professors. Thrilling stuff. However, Heather's enthusiasm for it all soon proved contagious, and they found themselves blitzing through some very tedious material.

At twelve thirty, they unpacked the bento that they had set aside for lunch, and devoured that quickly, too. High-powered lawyering like theirs did not allow for time to be wasted.

As they reviewed and studied like law students cramming the night before the finals, Joshua found himself wondering about their own stakes in the trial. He'd wondered plenty about James' own, but never had he paid attention for himself and his compatriots. As a managing partner, Gerald's post was safe, but should they lose, his prestige would definitely be lowered. As for him, Joshua, he felt confident that his status as the youngest brother of the President would protect him. It had worked for the past year, so why would it not now?

The difficult one, the one who had the most to lose, Joshua realized, was Heather.

She had everything to lose. The woman was a senior associate, caught in that delicate threshold between lowly associate and partner. She did not have Gerald's respected status as a managing partner, nor was she related to a powerful and influential person, like Joshua was. Heather Huynh was, to simply put it, a normal person, and normal people often were the poor lambs being led to slaughter in a high-risk scenario like the one Rainier Landon found itself in. Win or die, Joshua presumed, was the motto that the Board of Directors had stamped upon the case.

"Hey," Heather said, nudging Joshua's sleeve, which served to shake him out of his thought-induced stupor, "you nodding off already? Jesus Christ, it's only three. Three hours left, buddy."

"Three hours?" Joshua moaned back in exasperation. "Three hours? We've already reviewed practically every single suit that has to do with discrimination or one-sidedness. What in the world could you want? Let's get out of here, and grab a beer or something. Jeez, that 'work-until-six-o'clock' thing of yours is practically unreachable."

In response, all he got was an arched eyebrow. When Joshua refused to respond to that arched eyebrow, the owner of the eyebrow broke out into a nervous laugh, which continued for quite some time until it abruptly stopped and the owner of the eyebrow leaned in once more to the table, her eyes glowing with what looked like murderous intent.

"You're not going to let me leave, are you?" Joshua said tentatively, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Too. Bad. It's either the murder of Stephen Lawrence or Korematsu v. United States."

"Korematsu."

Heather bounded across the room to get the books.


	16. DISCONTINUED

**Author's Note** :

Unfortunately, I'm sorry to say this, but this story has been [ _ **DISCONTINUED**_ ] for various reasons, mostly having to do with the plot's absurdity. The rewrite, _A Multitude of Details,_ is up, and attempts to make more sense than this one.

Thanks for those of you that have reviewed, followed, favorited, or simply read up to this point.

Cheers,

Scrappy


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